


One More Night

by Ride4812



Series: Waiting On My Own Too Long [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 54,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29230071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride4812/pseuds/Ride4812
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Waiting On My Own Too Long [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146308
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Breathe

He squinted against the sun bringing his hand up to shield his eyes so he could gaze at her. She  
looked beautiful, blonde hair surrounding her head like a halo. He didn't remember her ever  
looking so soft. Gone was the dark, overdone makeup of her past. She was wrapped in a smart,  
off white coat, hugging her arms to her chest in the cool November air.

“Took you long enough, fucker,” She called out to him, a smile playing on her pale lips as she  
started jogging towards him. He felt himself exhale as she wrapped him in her arms. She may  
have looked different, but his sister was beneath the unfamiliar exterior.

“8 fucking years,” He sighed burying his head into her hair for a moment, smelling the soft scent  
of shampoo. It was nice to smell something clean. He abruptly pulled back, “Alright, alright enough of that shit.”

Mandy smiled knowingly, looking down at her boots and gesturing for Mickey to follow her  
towards the car she was driving.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” He said flatly, “Got a cigarette?”

Mandy tossed him the pack she picked up for him, then a lighter. He pulled out a cigarette quickly  
and dangled it from his lips while he lit it and inhaled deeply.

“Wasn’t going to let you take the bus,” She shrugged. “Kinda missed ya anyway.” She clicked the  
key fab for a sleek, white BMW X6 “Can’t smoke in the car.”

“The fuck, Mandy?” Mickey spat in a harsh whisper, rubbing the back of his neck nervously “you  
steal this shit? I ain’t tryin to get shoved right back in the can, bitch.”

“Relax,” Mandy chuckled. “I borrowed it. Not stupid enough to bring a stolen car to a prison,  
dumbass.”

Mickey nodded. He was on edge. He could feel it. He brought the cigarette back to his lips,  
shaky. As easy as it was to be around Mandy, it was strange. He hadn’t seen her since Christmas  
two years ago. She flew in to visit him. That was the only Christmas in the last 8 years that he had  
company. Svetalana said she and Yev were too busy with their weird fucking poly family to make  
it over. He acted like he didn’t give a shit, but he did. He wanted to see his kid on Christmas.  
Probably would’ve been happy seeing Svet, too. Would have been happy to see anyone. He  
blinked and pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. “Who’s car then?”

Mandy didn’t answer just said “C’mon,” as she slid into the driver’s seat.

Mickey dropped his cigarette, stamped it out with his boot and climbed in the car. He idly tried to  
remember the last time he was in a car, while staring out the window watching as the prison grew  
smaller in the rearview. He promised himself silently that he would never fucking go back there,  
averting his eyes and refusing to turn them back until he knew the building would be out of sight.

Never again.

“I’m in ‘til Sunday,” Mandy said breaking Mickey out his thoughts. “Figured you’d wanna rest  
tonight but tomorrow night we’re raging. Gotta celebrate.”

“Not interested.”

“Didn’t ask your opinion,” She stated clicking her tongue.

“Whatever,” Mickey wasn’t going to argue. He could think of worse things to do anyway. He just  
had to keep it under control or his PO would have his ass. He rubbed his tattooed knuckle against  
the side of his nose trying to keep his tone casual. “You see fuckhead?”

Mandy kept her eyes on the road, but her lips turned down slightly. “Where d'you think I got the  
car, Mick?”

“Ahhh,” Mickey grimaced, nodding his head in realization. He bent his knees and rested his dirty  
boots on the dash. Mandy reached over and swatted his legs quickly. He reluctantly dropped them  
down again.

“Gonna key it, too?”

“Nah.” He wondered how Ian could afford a car like this. Mandy had told him that he was some  
kind of nurse or some shit. He didn’t think nurses made that kinda dough. Maybe that guy he was  
dating was loaded or something. Wouldn’t surprise him. Mandy didn’t talk about his ex unless  
Mickey asked directly which he rarely did because it was fucking mortifying.

“Good. I’ll drop you off at home and then return it to him so you don’t have to..” She began.  
Her brother quickly cut it off, “Been a long time. I’m not a fucking pussy.” He bristled. “We can  
drop it off and take the El back home.”

Mandy nodded nervously not intending to push the issue. Instead she answered Mickey’s  
questions about life in New York, her friends, and her job. He seemed genuinely interested in  
what she had to say, smiling when she laughed, not making any sarcastic remarks. She didn’t  
point out the differences she was noticing in her brother. She was too glad to see his smile.

She took a North Side highway exit and Mickey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Guess things  
changed. She drove down tree lined, streets with huge houses and perfectly manicured lawns.  
Mickey raised his eyebrows in surprise and bit his bottom lip hard when Mandy pulled up to an  
impressive brick house on and parked the car in the driveway.

“Oh yeah?” was all he muster to say.

“Yeah,” She nodded, “Told you I’d drop you off.”

“Then I wouldn’t get to see how the other half lives,” Mickey said sardonically climbing out of the  
car and stretching his arms over his head, spinning around slowly and taking it all in.

“Shitty ass idea,” Mandy muttered locking the car and heading towards the front door. Mickey  
didn’t follow, just leaned against the car and lit up another cigarette.

Chapter Two: Hard

Mickey could barely hear Mandy and Ian’s voices as he leaned against the trunk of Ian’s car,  
smoking and staring at the fucking mansion across the street. He hated the way his body felt. He  
had energy surging through his bloodstream making him feel like he was going to crawl out of his  
skin. His right leg was shaking the way it did when his dad used to come into the house yelling  
and drunk off his ass. He tried to take a few slow breaths, but found himself sputtering slightly on  
the exhale.

Motherfucker. He didn’t want his body to react to Ian in any way. That shithead didn’t deserve  
any of him, not even his anger. He brought his cigarette back up to his lips and noticed his hand  
was shaking. Fuck you hand.

“Gonna say ‘hey’?” A voice called out. Ian. He was closer now. Mickey could tell by the volume.  
Without looking back, he figured Ian was on the grand walkway to his supersized residence.  
Stop shaking, he silently admonished his hand. When he felt he had some semblance of control  
over his limb, he held his arm up past the hood of the car, middle finger displayed prominently. 

“That’s how it’s going to be, huh?” He could hear an inflection in Ian’s voice that he recognized  
immediately. 8 years wasn’t long enough for him to forget what Ian sounded like when he was  
smiling. Smug fucking asshole. “Some things never change.” His voice was getting closer.

“Yeah and some do,” Mickey said turning around, making sure Ian saw him eyeing his house  
with disdain. He shifted his eyes so he was looking directly in Ian’s. Was he always that much  
taller than him? Fuck. He worked hard to give Ian a once over similar to the one he gave the  
house. He wanted to look disgusted.

Judging from Ian’s shy smile and then his action of wrapping his arms around Mickey tightly to  
hug him, his look of revulsion had not worked out as planned. “You look good, too,” He said  
softly into Mickey’s ear. “Been so long.”

Mickey willed his body to move away from Ian, though it seemed to be pulling towards him like a  
magnet. He took three steps back as a safety net. “Never said you looked good,” He retorted, but,  
shit, the fucker did look good. Mickey guessed that wasn’t ever an issue for Ian anyway. He was  
wearing a white beater with a hoody pulled over it, unzipped and pair of loose grey sweatpants.  
His hair was still as bright as fire and his eyes were greener than Mickey remembered them. His  
body looked the same as it did when he was in ROTC so many years earlier. Muscles. He felt heat  
rising in up his spine. That body. He had known it so well. But, really, had he always been that  
tall? Suddenly, Mickey felt really small. Not just stature-wise, just minuscule. Scared, maybe.  
Anxious.

The cocky shit smiled his smug fucking smile and lifted an eyebrow. Was Mickey really that  
transparent? He fucking hated his own eyes for giving him away. He hated his brain, or maybe his  
heart for the emotions that were charging through his body. The only part of him that he didn’t  
hate was standing across from him, in the form of Ian Gallagher, a cruel dichotomy that made him  
hate himself more. He averted his eyes from Ian’s to scan for Mandy. She was hanging back by  
the walkway, fucking around on her phone pretending she wasn’t listening to every fucking word.

“It’s good to see you, Mick.” Ian said earnestly, pulling Mickey’s eyes back towards his with his  
buttery tone. He cringed at the familiarity. Mick. Mickey. He wanted to correct Ian, but didn't.  
Not worth it. Instead he hummed bringing the cigarette to his mouth. His hand was shaking.  
Fucking hand. He knew Ian noticed so he mumbled something about being hungry to excuse his  
shakiness. He felt the skin above his heart begin to itch. It fucking healed years ago. His body was  
fucking with him. He willed himself not to scratch it. Not to remind Ian what was there, under his  
shirt.

“Want something to eat?” Ian said brightly his voice lifting a bit.

Mickey realized Ian was nervous, too. It settled him down a bit to know that Ian was  
uncomfortable. He figured this was as good an opportunity as any heighten the asshole’s  
discomfort. “Your house,” Mickey remarked his tone judging and cold, “Didn’t realize nurses  
pulled it in.”

“I was an EMT, not a nurse. Not anymore,” Ian said glancing down at his sneakers.

Sore spot. Mickey found one. He decided to push, “Not anymore, huh? Eight years in the can is a  
long time, but I’m guessin’ they didn’t raise unemployment high enough to bankroll your  
McMansion.”

“It’s not really my house,” Ian informed him zipping and unzipping his hoody. Still nervous.  
Good.

“You don’t say,” Mickey said dropping his cigarette on the paver covered driveway. He stepped  
down on it, sweeping his boot a bit making sure to spread the remaining tobacco as he did. He  
wanted to leave a mark. Something ugly. “Mand, you ready?” He called to his sister. He couldn’t  
take it anymore. His sister looked up quickly and shuffled over to where he and Ian were standing.

“Yeah, let’s go,” She said, wanting to support her brother in whatever way he needed.

“Let me drive you guys back,” Ian said quickly walking over to open the driver side door. He  
didn’t get in, because neither Milkovich moved. Mandy was looking at Mickey, waiting for his  
cue.

“Wouldn’t want you to take your car to the South Side, man. Hear it’s pretty rough down there,”  
Mickey snarked thumbing his nose. A slight pink creeped over Ian's cheeks. Mickey wasn’t sure if  
it was anger, or embarrassment. He didn’t care either way, whichever it was, Mickey loved it.

“We’ll take the El.”

“I’ll call you later,” Mandy said quietly, moving towards Ian. They hugged. After pulling back,  
Ian closed the car door with a little more force than necessary.

“Will I see you tomorrow night?” Ian asked tone hushed like Mickey couldn’t fucking hear.  
Mandy shrugged and Mickey rolled his eyes, shifting impatiently. Ian turned to him, “A bunch of  
my friends are going to a club in Boystown tomorrow night. Asked Mandy if you guys wanted to  
join. It’s a pretty cool place. More lowkey than…” He paused looking like he was unsure if he  
wanted to finish the sentence, but he was too committed to abandon it, so he swallowed noisily  
and continued “the Fairy Tail, you know. Just different, not anything like that.” Rambling.  
Nerves. A flood of memories submerged Mickey's brain: Kisses, dancing, abs, gold, Curtis, drugs.  
Gone and then back again. The only thing that was bringing Mickey any solace in this situation  
was the fact that Ian was on edge.

“We’re not fucking friends, Gallagher,” Mickey spat turning on his heels, words stronger than he  
was feeling. He willed himself to walk away. He didn’t want to turn back and look at Ian again.  
He needed to get away from him, before he lost any power he may have gained. He hated feeling  
small. He never wanted to feel that way again.

Mandy followed, turning over her shoulder to shoot Ian a sympathetic look. She mouthed her  
“thanks” for the car and Ian gave her half wave and a nod. He watched from his driveway as the  
Milkoviches walked away from his house. He couldn’t help but notice how strange it was to see  
Mickey on his street. It felt like a dream, a nightmare. He wasn’t sure. He sighed as he locked his  
car up and headed inside.

Chapter Three: Baby

Walking into his old house was strange. He felt a swell of sadness surround him as soon as he  
opened the door. The place was still in disrepair, but it was clean now and… decorated. Iggy was  
the only Milkovich left living there, with Mandy in New York and Terry dead. Selena, Iggy’s  
girlfriend had moved in and given the place her own personal touch. Hot pink throw pillows and a  
zebra carpet made the interior almost unrecognizable. The aesthetic was horribly tacky, but  
Mickey was glad for it. It helped him forget where he was, at least a little.

“Made up your bed for you,” Mandy said opening the door to Mickey’s room. The sign of  
warning that had once adorned his door having long since been removed.

“Thanks,” He breathed in deeply taking it all in. All his posters hung on the wall. Inside this room,  
nothing was different. He bit his lip and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes willing  
himself to get it together. He shook his head and squinted his eyes pushing the feelings back.

“Don’t want to be back here.”

“Better than jail, right?” Mandy offered gently. “Got you a steak. Gonna go make it for you.  
Shouldn’t take too long since you’re nasty and like it bleeding.” She smiled softly rubbing her  
brother’s shoulders before exiting his room.

Mickey eyes scanned the room like it was all alien but painfully familiar. His gaze fell onto a  
photo tacked to one of his posters. He walked over to it, running his thumb on Ian’s dumb face for  
a moment, staring at his red hair covered in a beanie, his finger up defiantly. It was a different  
lifetime. A million years had passed by him, but Mickey never moved.

He sat in his cell while life rushed past him. He was stagnant. Stuck. He was 29 years old, but his  
only meaningful memories were before his 21st year. It was the only life he knew, while everyone  
else had found new ones, leaving him behind.

He pulled the photo off the wall quickly, wanting to destroy it. Rip it in half, the way he felt torn.  
Instead he shoved it in his sock drawer and laid back on his bed with a deep sigh.

*

“You look handsome, baby,” Theo said running his hand through Ian’s hair as the younger man  
leaned down to tie his shoe, “Where are you headed?”

“Sure you wanna know?” Ian asked looking up at his boyfriend briefly before looking back down  
to work on his other shoe.

“I’m guessing it’s somewhere I’d rather you weren’t going then,” Theo said with a knowing  
laugh. “And judging by the fact that it’s Saturday night and you didn’t ask me to come, I’m going  
to go ahead and guess it’s a place where I wouldn’t want to be seen.”

“You’re such a smart man, Mr. Lieutenant Governor,” Ian purred as he stood up wrapping his  
arms tightly around Theo’s waist and pulling him towards him swiftly. He tilted his head up a little  
to grab Theo’s lower lip between his teeth. Theo let out a quiet gasp, and frowned as Ian released  
him. “Told you a few days ago that Grant, Gemma and I got a table at Lit.” He reached for his  
fitted leather jacket that he had tossed over the chaise lounge carelessly earlier that day. “You were  
probably busy with some budget shit.” Ian said with a shrug.

“Hmm, I have been pretty busy with that ‘budget shit,’” Theo acquiesced, a smirk playing on his  
lips at Ian’s over simplification of what his monster of a job entailed. He grabbed the back of Ian’s  
head gently and pulled him in close planting a slew of tender kisses against his boyfriend’s strong  
jaw line. “You angry at me? I know I haven’t been around much.”

“Not angry,” Ian offered doe eyed. He knew it drove Theo absolutely crazy when he pouted.  
“Just sad. I miss you.”

“I know, baby, I miss you too,” he breathed feeling himself grow hard. He pushed against Ian  
with a sigh, “It’s my fault. I have to get better with managing my time.”

“You really do,” Ian agreed, lapping it up. He had him where he wanted him now. He rubbed his  
hand through Theo’s short grey hair smoothly before tightening his grip, fiercely pulling his  
boyfriend’s face down towards his own. Ian stared up at him while licking his own lips hotly,  
tempting him. He could see Theo twitch. “What are you gonna do to make it up to me?”

“Alinea tomorrow night. I’ll get us a table. Just you and me, ok?” His voice was wavering a bit,  
nervous, wanting to please him.

Ian nodded, loving that this handsome, powerful man was practically pleading, set on doing  
whatever he could to keep Ian happy, “Sounds alright.”

“Fuck me before you leave, please,” Theo breathed rutting into his boyfriend, making sure Ian felt  
his cock pushed hard against his hip.

“I’m already late,” Ian answered pulling away from him, “Wish I could.”

“I’ll be quick. I promise,” Theo pleaded, “Need you.” He attempted to grab at Ian again, but the  
younger man rebuffed his advances instead planting a quick, chaste kiss against Theo’s lips.

“I’ll be home late, babe. Don’t wait up,” Ian informed him turning away quickly, grabbing his car  
keys, and heading for the door.

“Be good, love. I’m serious. Nothing too crazy. Not like last time. Remember the papers. People  
are always watching. I can’t afford…” He called after him, but Ian was already out of the house  
before he could finish, a smirk playing on his pink lips.

*

Mickey woke up late Saturday afternoon, not realizing how fucking long he slept. His old piece of  
shit bed felt like a cloud compared to the shit he slept on in jail. He spent the rest of the afternoon  
at Sherwood Park with Yevgeny, Svetlana, and Mandy. He couldn’t believe how big the kid had  
gotten. He saw him recently, but it’s different when you’re not looking through glass. He was a  
sarcastic, scrappy 9 year old, with an attitude almost as big as his blue eyes. Mickey laughed at the  
shit he gave his mother, much to Svetlana’s annoyance.

Later that night, Mickey was surrounded by familiar faces at the Alibi. There were lots of back  
pats and “welcome homes.” He was happy that there were no Gallaghers in attendance. He didn’t  
want to see them. He drank a few beers and mostly avoided talking to as many people as he could.  
It’s not that he didn’t want to catch up, it’s that he really had nothing to say.

Selena checked up on him every 15 minutes. She was nice, but really fucking annoying. Iggy  
found himself a good, nurturing woman. Mickey was happy for him, but he couldn’t wait to get  
away from her.

“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” He whispered harshly in Mandy’s ear. “Bitch is driving me  
crazy.”

Mandy laughed loudly. She was drunk. He was buzzing pretty good himself. “Annoying, huh?”  
Mickey raised his eyebrows, widened his eyes and nodded, “Not gonna fucking make it with  
them. Gotta get a new place. Make some money.”

“This too shall come,” Mandy promised slapping her brother on the back. “Wanna hit up  
Boystown?”

“You serious?” Mickey groused pulling a face of complete disgust and shock. Mandy laughed  
harder this time.

“Why not? Dickhead will pay for all our liquor. We can get wasted and you can get fuuuucked,”  
Mandy trilled in a sing songy voice.

“I’m not fucking him,” Mickey tsked indignantly eyes growing dark.

“Not Ian, dumbass. Boys. Town. I’m sure you’d find someone. Did I mention we’d be drinking  
for free. It’s up to you though. Whatever you wanna do. Your night,” She spanked his ass  
playfully trying to lighten his mood.

He hadn’t been fucked in… a really really long time. His eyes grazed over the faces in the Alibi.  
He certainly wasn’t gonna get fucked here. He’d drink some of Gallagher’s liquor and troll the  
alleyways. He nodded at Mandy “Fine. Let’s go.” He had a plan.

Chapter Four: Bang

The line for the club stretched blocks down Halsted. Mickey grunted at the sight of it and all the  
fancy ass faggots that were waiting willingly. “No fucking way,” He complained shaking his  
head, “By the time we get in there I’ll be dead ass sober and realize this was a fuckin bad idea to  
begin with. Let’s go.”

“Relax,” Mandy chirped, looping her arm around Mickey’s and pulling him towards the door,  
“Ian told me to go to the front of the line and give his name.”

“Fuckin big shot, huh?” Mickey muttered shaking off Mandy’s arm and shoving his hands in his  
pockets.

After Mandy spoke to the bouncer, he dropped the velvet rope and gestured them through.  
Mickey caught sight of the first few people looking at he and Mandy like they were ‘somebody.’  
He never felt more like nobody. Small again.

“Phones,” A gorgeous, blonde woman said holding her hand out expectantly. Mandy handed her  
cell over and received a ticket from the woman in return. She turned her attention to Mickey,  
waiting.

“It’s club policy, for the privacy of patrons.” She spoke slowly, like he was an idiot.

“Don’t got one.”

She raised her eyebrows suspiciously, “You don’t have a cell phone?”

He clicked his tongue “Nope.” Now they were engaged in some fucking weird stare off. Mickey  
cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You gonna frisk me or somethin’?”

She seemed like she was considering the idea for a moment. “It’s just pretty unbelievable that you  
don’t have a cell in 2024. Most people have two.” She wasn’t letting this go.

“Listen, they don’t hand ‘em out in prison, lady,” Mickey spat.

Her eyes widened, lips tightening as she waved them through.

“We’re off to a strong start,” Mandy joked. “There’s Ian.”

The club was intimate and dark. There were 15 reclaimed wood tables, long enough to seat about  
20 people a piece. Each table had hundreds of candles, varying in size running down the middle.  
The seats looked like thrones, covered in black velvet and obnoxiously ornate. A DJ was playing  
EDM for a group of people dancing in front of the booth. It was loud enough to give him a  
fucking headache and he wondered why his senses were so fucked up. Everything in prison was  
so flat, making everything on the outside more vibrant than he remembered.

“Glad you guys made it,” Ian beamed brightly at them, wrapping Mandy in a hug. Mickey took  
the opportunity to allow his eyes to pass over Ian. More vibrant. How could a guy make a tight  
black sweater and dark jeans look so fucking good. He shifted uncomfortably, straightening out  
the front of the grey collared shirt Mandy told him to wear. It felt a little too snug, thanks to the  
fact that he bought it 10 years ago, and his body was a little firmer with prison muscles than it had  
been back them. He felt like a tool.

“Mandy paid me to come,” Mickey shot coldly, hoping the sentiment made Ian feel even partly as  
fucking awful as Mickey did when Ian muttered similar words 8 years ago. Ian winced like he  
was slapped in the face and Mickey knew he got him. He watched as Ian swallowed slowly and  
collected his thoughts. He nodded.

"Deserved that," Ian said simply.

"Deserve worse." Mickey snarked.

Ian’s affect made Mickey so uncomfortable that he could feel his brazenness slipping away. He  
couldn't read him. He had always been able to read him before. Mickey started biting on his lip  
like he did to soothe his stress. He could almost hear Ian’s voice saying what he always used to  
say when Mickey was gnawing. ‘Why don’t you let me bite if for you?’ He was equally relieved  
and disappointed when the redhead didn’t. Instead Ian led Mickey and Mandy over to the table  
and made short introductions for everyone at the table. They all had careers. Not just jobs. Fuck  
ton of money, careers. Then came his introduction “And this is Mickey,” Ian paused in  
consideration. “We’ve known each other for a really long time.”

Mandy quickly settled into a seat in the middle of the table next to Ian's friend, Gemma. She was  
the only other chick there and it seemed like she and Mandy had met before. He wondered  
absentmindedly how closely Mandy and Ian kept in touch. Did they get together every time  
Mandy came into town to visit Mickey? He rubbed his forehead as if he were erasing the thoughts  
and went to take a seat.

He decided to sit in one of the big thrones at the end of the table, as far from Ian as he could get.  
Luckily the table was so long that he felt like he was miles away. It eased his nerves a bit, but not  
enough to turn down the shot a hot, cocktail waiter was offering him. “Tito’s,” The guy informed  
Mickey as he immediately threw it down his throat, not worried about what the fuck it was. The  
waiter smiled a full, white toothed smile as Mickey instantly grabbed another shot off his tray. “I  
like your style.” His eyes were glimmering.

Mickey looked him over probably not as discretely as he intended to. He was wearing a black  
tank top that looked to be second skin, only a few shades darker than his ebony complexion. He  
was built as hell and tall. When did everyone get so fucking tall? Mickey was pretty sure  
Mandingo could split his ass in half. He could feel his cock stiffening at the thought. “Uh ok,” He  
said dumbly. The waiter smiled again, winked and walked away. Mickey palmed his dick over his  
jeans quickly, willing it to calm down. He was going to have to work on his approach.

“So, you knew Ian before he was a political wife, right?” The guy sitting across from Mickey  
asked startling him from his thoughts.

“Uhh, yeah,” Mickey responded tentatively. He paused, “Political wife?”

The guy laughed heartily. “I always tease him. Grant,” He said reaching out his hand across the  
table for Mickey to shake “The intros were pretty quick and there’s a bunch of us. Figured you  
wouldn’t remember. I work for Theo.”

Mickey nodded, shaking the guy’s hand. He was clean cut and preppy. He didn’t know how to  
respond because he didn’t know who the fuck Theo was so he just sat there. When did talking to  
people get to be so damn hard? Not that it was ever really a strength of his to begin with, but this  
was brutal. “Don’t know who that is,” Mickey finally said breaking the awkward silence. What  
does it take to get a fucking drink in here?

“Jack and orange juice,” Mandingo read his mind. He placed a little napkin down in front of  
Mickey and set the drink on top of it. “Ian said it was your drink.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and glanced over Ian who was smiling stupidly at him with a mischievous  
glint in his eye. Mickey just threw his middle finger up and turned back to Grant who was looking  
at him wide eyed. Mickey decided that everyone’s eyes seemed to grow exponentially when he  
was around. He just kept surprising them or something.

“Theo’s Ian’s boyfriend, fiancé, whatever,” Grant informed Mickey as if he had fucking asked,  
“Lieutenant Governor of the ‘Prairie State.’” It made a lot of sense now. Ian’s nice house, new  
car, lack of a job...

“Mmm,” Mickey acknowledged biting his lip hard. He could taste a little blood on his tongue.

“Didn’t feel much like a prairie on the South Side.” He was filling the space, changing the subject.  
He didn’t want to hear anything else.

Grant laughed louder than he probably should have at the statement that Mickey didn’t mean as a  
joke. “Oh man, you’re so funny! Ian said you were hilarious.” He was genuinely laughing and  
now it was Mickey’s turn to go wide eyed. What the fuck was up with this guy?

Mickey glanced over at Ian, idly wondering what else the guy had said about him. His stomach  
dropped when he saw the guy next to Ian cutting four long lines of cocaine. Mickey watched as  
Ian leaned over stealthily, snorting two lines before passing the bill to his friend. Ian lifted his eyes  
and they were immediately locked into Mickey’s. He didn’t look guilty. He should. Mickey was  
smart enough to know that coke didn’t mix well with being fucking Bipolar. He realized that  
Grant was still talking to him, but couldn’t make out a word he was saying. He just knew that he  
needed to get out of there. He stood up abruptly, much to Grant's dismay, and barreled over to  
where Mandy was sitting.

“I gotta go,” He asserted interrupting her conversation without a care.

“We just got here. Everything ok?” Mandy asked worriedly. Gemma looked at him expectantly,  
waiting for a response as well.

“Can’t be around that shit,” He said gesturing to the razor and bill still lying on the table by Ian.

“I’m on fucking parole. Not gonna get thrown back in jail for his ass.” Again.

Gemma chortled, “You’re so cute! Nobody gives a shit here. No phones. No cops. No problem.”  
Mickey shot her a look that had her leaning back meekly.

“I gotta go,” He repeated again, attention directly on Mandy like the brunette fucking ditz next to  
her didn’t exist. “Want you to stay. I’m gonna take care of what I gotta take care of anyway.”

“You sure?” Mandy asked trying to read her brother’s face.

“Yeah. I’m gonna take a leak and then get outta here. See you later, ok?”

“Sure you’re ok?” Mandy asked again earning a snarl from Mickey.

“I’m a big boy, Mands. Can take care of myself.”

Mandy nodded. She watched as Mickey plowed his way through the room and felt a chill creep  
up her spine when she realized Ian was following him. This can’t be good.

Mickey felt a hand grab his wrist as he reached to turn the handle to open the bathroom door. He  
swung around ready to fucking kill whoever was grabbing him, but a hard push knocked the air  
out of his lungs and sent him doubling back hard against the door.

“The fuck, Ian.” He sputtered angrily, so shocked by the force that he just stared up at him. Ian  
reached his right hand around Mickey’s back to push down the door handle, while shoving  
Mickey back through the doorway with his left. He quickly locked the door behind them, trying to  
catch his breath, smiling seductively at Mickey.

“It’s single stall, asshole.” Mickey said crisply, turning away from Ian attempting to busy himself  
with the sink like he didn’t know what was happening. “Not gonna fucking pee with you  
watching me, so you can...” He looked at Ian and made a scooting motion with his hand. Mickey  
swore he just blinked once and his body was crashing back against the wall.

“I fucking missed you,” Ian growled hotly one hand wrapped around Mickey’s neck, the other  
digging hard into his hip. He smashed his mouth against Mickey’s, biting his way in. Their  
tongues desperately fought each other for dominance and Mickey’s knees began to feel incredibly  
weak. Tito’s. He was drunk. The fucker wasn’t making his knees weak. No way. Those days  
were done. Ian's body pressed heavy against his.

“Yeah, couldn't fucking tell," Mickey breathed turning his head to the side to deny Ian access. The  
redhead took this as an invitation to start kissing and sucking at his neck. Mickey moaned in spite  
of himself as Ian worked his way up behind his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Ian muttered distractedly still working on his ex-boyfriend. Mickey could feel Ian’s  
hard cock rutting against his stomach.

“You're high is what you are,” Mickey snapped angrily, shoving Ian off of him. He turned back to  
the sink like everything was normal and he hadn’t just been mauled by a fucking animal. He  
wanted to ask him why the fuck he was doing coke anyway, but thought better of it reminding  
himself that the redhead wasn’t his fucking problem anymore.

“A little,” Ian nodded pushing his hair back, licking his lips. He approached Mickey, slower this  
time “Doesn't make me any less sorry.” He reached into the back pocket of Mickey’s jeans and  
pulled out his wallet.

“Nothing in there, tough guy,” Mickey stated raising an eyebrow “thought you had a senator for  
that.”

“Not looking for money,” Ian muttered busily. “Lieutenant Governor, anyway. If he were a  
senator, we’d be in D.C”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Mickey exclaimed exasperated by the fucking weirdo.

Ian held up a condom and lube packet proudly. “Mmmhmm. You came up here planning to get  
fucked.”

Mickey narrowed his eyes, “Super sleuth over here. Came to Boystown to get fucked,” He rubbed  
his hands behind his neck uncomfortably. “Any other reason to come here?”

“You haven’t been fucked in years,” Ian said as if he was having a fucking epiphany, “No way  
you let anybody fuck you in there.”

“Again with the detective skills,” Mickey barked angrily grabbing all his shit out of Ian’s hands  
and shoving it back in his pocket.

“Let me fuck you, Mick,” Ian said, voice low and husky, pushing him towards the wall again. “I  
fucking need to.” He grabbed Mickey’s ass over his jeans kneading and rubbing, soft moans  
escaping both their mouths.

“Not happening, Gallagher,” Mickey drawled breath hitching in his throat. He swallowed trying  
to move it back down. The asshole was too fucking hot. He was staring down at Mickey his eyes  
completely blown. Mickey wondered if it was lust or coke that was causing the green to  
disappear.

“C’mon. I’ll make it so good for you,” Ian promised rubbing his hand through Mickey’s hair  
before resting it on his cheek. In spite of himself, Mickey rested his cheek against his ex’s large  
hand. “I’ll prep you really good. You’re really gonna need to be prepped,” He said matter-a-factly,  
rubbing his cock against Mickey hard, “Please, Mick. I’ll make you feel so good. I’ll turn you out.  
I promise. I always do, right?” He was begging. “Don’t get slammed in the alley. I’ll get a room at  
the Carlton down the street. Fuck you all night. I need to feel your ass again. Need you.” Ian's  
breath was warm on his face as he started rubbing Mickey's hard on under over his pants slowly.

“Fuuuuck,” Mickey sighed squirming under Ian’s physical and mental pressure. He pushed Ian  
back and bit his lip, thinking. The asshole did have a point. He didn’t want to be a bitch and run  
back to him, but it had been 8 fucking years since he had been properly fucked and that was  
taking precedence over his pride at this point.

Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand to rested it on the bulge in his pants, “Remember how good I fuck  
you, Mick. Let me fuck you. Please.” His eyes were pleading. Mickey was starting to think that  
letting Ian fuck him was doing Ian more of a favor than the redhead would be doing him. “You  
can go back to hating me tomorrow. Just this once..."

“Ok,” Mickey said softly.

Ian’s face lit up excitedly, “Ok?.. Ok! Meet me at the Carlton in 20 minutes. Go up to the  
Penthouse. I’ll be there.”

Mickey nodded.

“Don’t pussy out. Promise me you won’t pussy out,” Ian demanded, eyes wild.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talkin to?” Mickey said straightening his shirt and scowling at  
Ian.

Ian gave him another one of those mega-watt smiles and said “Ok” about four more times, rubbing  
his hands against his thighs, excitedly. He pulled the door open and looked back at Mickey before  
he exited. “I’m gonna fucking wreck you."

Mickey watched as the door closed, half in shock from what just happened, mostly shaken by  
what he had just agreed to. He splashed his face with cold water, feeling like he already was  
fucking wrecked.

Chapter Five: Score

An hour later, Mickey was leaning against the mirrored wall of an otherwise gilded elevator  
traveling up to the penthouse of a swanky ass hotel. His head was still light and fuzzy from the  
alcohol, but his heart felt like lead in his chest. He cursed himself knowing this wasn’t his brightest  
idea, but the temptation was too great to fight. He had to get this fuck out of his system and then  
he’d move on with his life once and for all. He had to. With every step he took towards the  
penthouse door he begged his feet to run in the other direction, but they betrayed him. As soon as  
he lifted his fist to knock, the door swung open. “Were you waiting by the fucking peephole?”  
Mickey scoffed in disbelief.

“Was starting to think you weren’t gonna show,” Ian confessed moving back so Mickey could  
enter. He didn’t look as confident as he had an hour ago. His eyes weren’t lit with that same fire.

“Said I would,” Mickey said shaking off his jacket and dumping it on the table in the entryway.  
He took a moment to survey the room. It was bigger than an apartment with a full living room, a  
tv the size of the wall, dining room, kitchen, and a fucking piano. He didn’t even see a bed.

“Wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“I waited,” Ian stated the obvious. He walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed two beers out of  
it.

“Yeah, an hour’s more doable, huh?” Mickey sniffed sitting down on the couch, putting his  
booted feet up on the coffee table, and accepting the beer Ian was holding out to him with a grunt.

“Glad you came,” Ian said softly ignoring Mickey’s comment. He sat down next to Mickey...close.

“Wanted to wait till that shit burnt out of your system. Didn’t blow any more, did you?” Mickey  
asked. He was staring at the black screen of the powered down television, eyes avoiding Ian’s.

“No.”

“Good,” Mickey cleared his throat uncomfortably “Your eyes were fucking shifty, like they are  
when you’re…” He paused.

“Manic?” Ian offered taking a swig of his beer.

Mickey nodded, slowly turning his face towards Ian, “Freaky as shit.” He looked into Ian’s eyes  
and noticed they were green again, gentler, a little sad. Mickey wasn’t sure which Ian was worse.  
He felt his own teeth gnashing at his lip and wondered if he’d have a bottom lip left after tonight.  
Ian reached over and dragged his thumb slowly between Mickey’s lips, parting them slightly.  
Mickey could feel his heart pounding in his ears as Ian leaned over and gently rested his lips  
against his, the kissing equivalent of a whisper. He felt Ian’s tongue trace over his bottom lip and  
he fell into step dropping it down further to allow Ian entrance. He heard Ian’s beer drop to the  
floor as Ian’s hands reached to cup either side of Mickey’s face intensifying the kiss. Mickey felt  
like the room was spinning around him as their tongues swirled and lapped at each other’s mouths.

Tentatively, Mickey pushed his fingers through Ian’s hair earning a soft groan from the redhead.  
He felt Ian’s hands drop down to his hips, gripping them firmly “C’mere,” Ian breathed pulling his  
mouth off of Mickey’s for long enough to guide him up so he’d straddle him.  
Without thinking better of it, Mickey acquiesced taking the spot on Ian’s lap that he had occupied  
so many times before. Mickey leaned over to find Ian’s lips again. As they kissed, Ian’s hands  
slipped down under Mickey’s jeans and boxers to grab full ass cheeks in each of his large hands.  
The touch caused a moan to escape both their lips.

Mickey used his hands to pull Ian’s head back as he kissed him more hungrily. Mickey could feel  
Ian’s hard on pressing up against his own as Ian began rutting into him with measured pulsing  
thrusts. Mickey dropped his lips off Ian’s and pressed them against his neck, breathing heavy into  
his skin as Ian kept moving underneath him. “You’re so fucking hot, Mick. Still so hot,” Ian  
sighed as Mickey pushed down against him, matching Ian’s pace, sucking and kissing into the  
redheads neck. Ian’s kneaded and clawed at Mickey’s flesh desperately, pushing him down harder  
with every snap of his hips. “Need that perfect ass. Wanna taste you..” That earned a gasp from  
Mickey, immediately pulling his lips off of Ian and practically falling to the side so he could  
scramble to get his jeans off.

Ian laughed his real laugh, the one Mickey remembered from years before. It wasn’t nervous or  
forced the way it had been over the last couple days. Mickey felt his lips turn up in a smile as he  
stood in front of Ian, unclothed from the waist down. “I’m horny as a motherfucker, Gallagher.”

“I can see that,” Ian said appreciatively, eyes on Mickey’s stiff cock. He licked his lips and sat  
forward on the couch so he could reach his tongue out to lick the leaking slit. Mickey closed his  
eyes and leaned his head back as Ian continued to lap at the tip of his dick.

“Fuuck,” Mickey sighed looking back down at Ian as he continued to lick the end, tongue  
swirling around just the head, “Can’t fucking tease me, man. I need it hard.”

“Love teasing you,” Ian reminded him, looking up at Mickey, green eyes ablaze staring torridly  
into Mickey’s blues as his tongue continued to circle. “Remember…”

“Course I fuckin remember,” Mickey muttered licking his lips and rubbing his fingers through  
Ian’s hair, watching him work on the head of his cock. He pulled one hand off of Ian’s head to  
rub his own forehead. His knees were beginning to shake with anticipation. He inhaled and  
exhaled sharply trying to pull himself together. He couldn't.

“Remember when I used to fuck your face?” he asked pushing Ian’s head forward and bucking  
his hips so he could shove his dick hard down Ian’s throat. Eyes wide with surprise, Ian worked  
hard to control his gags and take it. He let Mickey continue to fuck into his mouth as tears began  
to drip from his eyes from the force. He gagged again and squeezed Mickey’s thighs not able to  
take it anymore. Mickey pulled out. “Don’t suck dick anymore, huh, tough guy?” He laughed  
wryly as Ian gasped to catch his breath and wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Not gonna fuck my face like I’m your damn prison bitch, Mickey,” Ian spat annoyed. He stood  
up abruptly, pushed past Mickey and began pulling his shirt off as he stormed through the kitchen,

“You coming?”

Mickey chugged the rest of the beer he had placed on the coffee table, belched from the bubbles  
and followed Ian into the bedroom. He found Ian sitting on the end of a king sized bed, naked  
with his huge, hard cock standing up from his lap proudly. There was a box of magnums and two  
tubes of lube sitting next to him.

“Think it’s gonna take that much lube?” Mickey laughed, watching as Ian stroked himself. He  
could feel himself growing harder at the show, not thinking that was possible. His cock was  
already straining at capacity.

Ian’s body was solid, just like it had been so many years before. He could see the muscles flex in  
his arm as he worked his cock. He tried to keep himself together but he knew he couldn’t as he  
felt his hand drop to his own dick to give him some relief. He jerked himself slowly as he watched  
the redhead do the same.

Mickey gasped as Ian brought his palm to his mouth, eyes burning into Mickey’s as he licked the  
length of it wickedly and dropped it back down to his cock, shrugging “Maybe. Knew the one  
packet you had wouldn’t be enough. Lay down.”

Mickey took the direction and laid back on the bed as Ian scooted up to sit next to him. The bed  
was fucking comfortable. He could probably cum from just being on such a heavenly bed. Ian  
straddled him, their cocks knocking together as Ian leaned over to unbutton Mickey’s shirt.  
Mickey shook out of it once Ian had completed the task. Ian reached down to pull up his black  
wife beater, but was stopped by Mickey grabbing his wrists. “Stays on.”

“I want to see you,” Ian groused. He started rubbing Mickey’s muscular arms. “You look so good.  
So cut.” He leaned down to lick his bicep.

“Nothing else to do in there,” Mickey disclosed as Ian moved down his body.

“Scoot up more, toss me a pillow.”

Mickey did and lifted his hips so Ian could slide the feathery pillow under him. He grabbed for a  
second when he realized just the one was too soft. Ian ghosted his lips over Mickey’s balls before  
licking hotly into Mickey’s crack earning a whine from the brunet.

“Spread your legs, hold your knees,” Ian directed as he licked and sucked at Mickey’s ass cheeks.  
When he was presented with better access, Ian circled his tongue slow and naughty around the  
muscular hole earning a loud moan from Mickey. He grinned and continued to work Mickey open  
with his tongue. He alternated between circling his tongue and poking it as deeply as he could  
inside Mickey.

After a few minutes Mickey was a shaking, moaning mess under him. “Need more, man,” He  
pleaded his voice broken. He heard the top of the lube click up and felt a slicked finger push into  
him. “Fuuuuuuck. Oh fuck.”

Ian went super slow remembering the promise he made to Mickey that he would prep him well,  
even though he was dying to shove his cock inside that hot hole. When Mickey felt looser, Ian  
pushed in another slicked finger and began to scissor. The noises that were coming from Mickey  
at this point were barely human. He was moaning and groaning freely and Ian could feel his own  
dick dripping from the chorus.

“Get… the fuck in.. me.. now,” He demanded, ever the bossy bottom.

That was all the encouragement Ian needed. He quickly ripped the condom packet open with his  
teeth and slid it down over his shaft. He lubed himself up generously, grabbed the pillows out  
from under Mickey’s lower back and lined himself up to Mickey’s hole. He inched himself in  
slowly watching Mickey’s face for indication of how he was taking it. Mickey's head dropped  
back, mouth falling open in an “O” as Ian pushed in. “Ok?” Ian asked softly, moving his hips  
from side to side until he was fully seated.

Mickey nodded, eyes rolling back in his head, only able to let out a strained “Move.”  
Ian pulled out halfway before pushing back in slowly. He kept a slow, tentative pace wanting to  
work Mickey in as best he could. He continued the sluggish movements, reaching around to cup  
Mickey’s balls with his hand. “Feel good?”

Mickey’s forearm was draped over his face and he was biting his lip. He barely nodded.

“Gonna pick up the pace a little,” Ian informed him as started to rock into him at a quicker tempo.

He still wasn’t fucking him full out, but Mickey wasn’t complaining like he used to when Ian took  
it easy on him. He tried to gauge Mickey’s needs but couldn’t tell what was going on with  
Mickey’s arm blocking his eyes.

A few minutes later he got his sign when Mickey’s hips moved to meet Ian’s as he plunged in  
deep. Ian grabbed Mickey’s wrists and yanked them towards the top of the bed, holding them  
there so he could see his face, “Gonna fuck you hard now,” Ian informed him. Mickey licked his  
lips and nodded in anticipation.

Ian pulled out to his tip and then plunged back into Mickey, hard. He snapped his hips at an  
increasingly brutal pace driving into Mickey over and over again. “Fuck… yes,” Mickey cried his  
voice wavering as Ian slammed into him unrelentingly. Ian moved his hands from Mickey’s  
wrists, bringing one down to push on Mickey’s shoulder for leverage as the other dug into  
Mickey’s hips. He was angling to hit his prostate. “Shiiit," Mickey yelped when he hit the spot  
and kept banging.

“Feel so… fuck… good, Mick,” Ian gasped, “Best fucking ass I’ve ever had.” He crashed his  
mouth onto Mickey’s and shoved his tongue into his mouth as he fucked him into the mattress.

“Best I ever had.” He whispered as Mickey moaned into his mouth.

Mickey reached his hand down to stroke his pulsing cock, desperate for relief. “Close,” He  
groaned, then whined when he felt the loss of Ian’s cock. “The fuck?” He snapped angrily.  
Ian was panting, “Take your shirt off. You’re gonna shoot all over it.”

“Fuck you,” Mickey huffed breathless, “I’ll fucking turn over and hit the bed.”

“No. Need to see your face,” Ian stated wiping the sweat from his brow. He was still gasping for  
air.

“Shut the fuck up and get on me, don’t give a shit about the shirt.” Mickey complained pulling Ian  
down on top of him.

Ian pushed up again, “Take the shirt, off. Please.” He was pleading.

Mickey closed his eyes for a second taking everything in and sighed heavily before removing the  
tank top. Ian’s hand immediately reached for the space above Mickey’s heart tracing his finger  
gently over his own name scrolled in cursive. Mickey squeezed his eyes shut tightly, turning his  
face away as Ian planted light, gentle kisses over the tattoo.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said his voice heavy with emotion. Mickey opened his eyes slowly as Ian put his  
hands on his cheeks and pulled Mickey’s face straight so he was staring deep in his eyes, “So  
fucking sorry.”

Before Mickey could respond, Ian shoved deep into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. He  
jerked Mickey’s cock as he rode his ass hard, bringing Mickey over the edge with a scream.  
Mickey’s ass pulsed and contracted around Ian, drawing guttural moans from the redhead as he  
found his own orgasm. He panted another “sorry,” before falling onto Mickey’s chest, exhausted.

Chapter Six: Satisfied

Mickey shot up with a start, adrenaline coursing through his body, fists clenched.  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa… chill,” Ian purred pulling his mouth up momentarily from Mickey’s hard  
dick, reaching over to pull one of Mickey’s hands open so he could entwine their fingers, “You  
nodded off, let you sleep til your cock woke up. Need to taste your cum.”

Mickey exhaled deeply and leaned his head back against the pillow, rubbing his eyes, and turning  
to look at the clock on the bedside table. 3:00am. “Prison reflexes,” He muttered, “Can’t wake me  
up like that, almost wrecked that pretty face.”

“Pretty, huh?” Ian laughed getting back to the blowjob.

“Mmm,” Mickey hummed. Gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking, all those fucking gay adjectives. He  
watched over his lower eyelashes as Ian worked his member like a pro, “Feels good.”

He could see Ian’s smirk, “Missed this cock,” he garbled with a mouth full of Mickey. He pulled  
their holding hands apart and reached up shoving his index finger in Mickey’s mouth, “Suck. Nice  
and wet.”

Mickey obliged pulling Ian’s index finger into his mouth and lapping over it with his tongue  
mimicking the patterns Ian was drawing over his dick. Without pulling his mouth off the brunet,  
Ian popped his finger out of Mickey’s mouth and brought it down to the moaning man’s ass crack.

“Go easy. Sore,” Mickey breathed.

“Whiny bitch all of a sudden,” Ian jested slowly tracing his finger around Mickey’s hole. He felt  
strong hands flip his shoulders so that he was turned onto his back on the bed. He howled in  
laughter and shrieks of protest as Mickey climbed on top of him, pinned him down and dropped  
his fingers towards Ian’s asshole. “No, no, no,” Ian squirmed trying to get out of Mickey’s hold  
still laughing freely.

“Who’s the whiny bitch now, Gallagher?” Mickey laughed, big smile on his face as he held down  
the spazzing redhead.

Ian grabbed both of Mickey’s elbows and yanked him down towards his face. “Really fucking  
missed you, Mick,” He confessed. Mickey pressed his lips down onto Ian’s. They kissed lazy and  
sloppy through Mickey’s silence to the loaded statement. “Lay back.”

Mickey rolled off of Ian, as the redhead reached down next to the bed for the tube of lube he had  
tossed down there a few hours earlier. He coated his finger and went back to blowing Mickey, his  
slicked finger making its way inside Mickey carefully moving to find his prostate. It didn’t take  
long for Mickey to feel his balls tightening and the heat in his stomach. “Gonna cum,” He gasped.  
Ian hummed happily and pressed on his prostate as Mickey shot warm and salty down Ian’s  
throat.  
Ian sat up with a gulp, wiping his messy mouth with the back of his hand before leaning over and  
kissing Mickey open and hot, mostly tongue, sharing the taste. “So good,” Mickey breathed as Ian  
pulled off.  
“I gotta go,” Ian said climbing off the bed, tucking his hard cock into his boxer briefs and palming  
it down before pulling his jeans on. He looked like a fire was lit under his ass. He searched the  
floor for his shirt, finally dropping down to his hands and knees to reach under the bed and grab it.  
Mickey watched, eyebrows raised, “Turnin’ into a pumpkin, Cindarella?”

“Something like that,” Ian smirked. He opened a plastic shopping bag and tossed an object  
Mickey’s way, “Heard you didn’t have one.”

Mickey caught it and rolled his eyes at the burner phone now in his possession. “Mandy?” He  
grumbled.

“Fucking funny story,” Ian said with a laugh smoothing back his hair.

Mickey rolled his eyes and grunted his thanks.

“Stay here till whenever, rooms paid for… Enjoy the bed,” Ian suggested as he leaned down to  
plant another kiss on Mickey’s lips. He deepened it passionately until Mickey pulled back, wiping  
his mouth. “When will I see you again?” Ian asked standing up straight.

“Won’t,” Mickey stated plainly, pulling the soft as silk sheets up around his body and turning onto  
his side, facing Ian with a yawn. He closed his eyes.

“I disagree,” Ian taunted. Mickey opened one eyelid to catch the mischievous glimmer in those  
green eyes. He closed it again and turned away. “Later, Mick.”

Mickey heard Ian’s feet pad through the monstrous hotel room and the door pull open. “Fuck,” He  
sighed to himself before drifting back to sleep.  
*

“What time is it?” Theo groaned as a naked Ian climbed on top of his previously sleeping form,  
weight heavy, hands everywhere.

“3:30,” Ian rasped, “Want you.”

“Yeah?” Theo breathed, as Ian kissed his neck.

“Mmmhmm, been thinking about it all night,” He cooed in the older man’s ear hotly. “Felt bad I  
left without fucking you.”

“Been thinking about you too,” Theo said reaching into the bedside table and tossing Ian the lube.  
“You’re so hot, baby. Need that big cock.”

“Turn over, hands and knees,” Ian directed, not wanting to look into his boyfriend’s slate grey  
eyes, the guilt nipping at him slightly. He prepped Theo’s tight ass quickly and shoved into him  
hard, making the older man yelp and then groan with pleasure.

“Uh huh. Right there, baby. I love you so much,” He moaned.

“I love you, too,” He promised as he slammed him again and again.

*

Mickey woke up around noon and thought he died and went to heaven. He had never slept in a  
bed so comfortable. He wanted to stay for a few more hours, but decided that he was already  
going to get enough shit from Mandy and Ig when he got home that he may as well just head back  
and get it over with.

He strode through the door of the Milkovich home an hour later to find Mandy, Iggy and Selena  
hanging out in the tacky living room, playing video games and eating pizza.

“Well, well, well,” Iggy teased as soon as he caught sight of his brother, “Look who the cat  
dragged in.”

“You were supposed to say ‘orange’ cat,” Selena hissed with a laugh, earning a dirty look from  
Mickey.

“You planned that shit?” Mickey scoffed shaking off his jacket and hanging it in the coat closet.

“Nice shirt,” Mandy remarked with a grin, “Looked better last night, though. Less wrinkled.”

Mickey shot her the finger before grabbing a piece of pizza and throwing himself down on the  
chair, “Fucking starving.”

“Yeah? Ian work you out good?” Iggy asked smirking at his brother.

“Huh?” Mickey hummed, playing dumb.

“Mandy told us you busted out of the club like a bat outta hell and Ian left with a headache ten  
minutes later,” Selena informed him, nodding her head knowingly, “Doesn’t sound so smooth.”  
Mickey huffed shooting Mandy the look of death, “Whatever. Didn’t see the guy,” He was  
embarrassed. He didn’t want to be, but he was. He didn’t want them to think he was weak. Being  
with Ian last night was the epitome of weakness.

They all busted out laughing at his denial and Mickey rolled his eyes.

“So how was it?” Mandy pried, eyebrows raised looking at Mickey expectantly.

Mickey sighed, fuck it. He knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Fuckin’ awesome.”

Mandy grinned, Iggy did too, and Selena whooped and clapped excitedly earning another look  
from Mickey. Shit. He didn’t know how he was going to put up with her, “He’s really, really  
hot,” She confessed, much to Iggy’s chagrin.

“Have you ever even fucking met him?” Mickey asked confused.

“No, but…” Her voice trailed off as Mandy and Iggy shot daggers at her.

“What?” Mickey bristled, sitting up in his seat.

“Fuck, he’s gonna see it anyway,” Iggy said to Mandy as he tossed the Sunday paper to Mickey.  
Mandy sighed, “Didn’t want to upset you, Mick.”

Mickey looked down at the front page of the Chicago Tribune and saw a picture of Ian staring  
back at him. He looked happy and light, standing next to a guy that looked to be about 45, both in  
well fitted suits. Mickey wasn’t into older guys, but he couldn’t deny the guy was good looking  
with his tan skin, hair and eyes the same icy grey color, full lips and wide white smile. He was  
taller than Ian by an inch or two and even under the suit you could tell he had a lean muscular  
body. Mickey glanced at the headline “Chicago’s Most Eligible Gay Bachelor No More: Lt. Gov.  
Goodwyn Settles Down while his Political Star Rises.” He let out a wry laugh and tossed the  
paper down, “Not broken up about it.” He assured them, "Nothing but a 'get it out my system'  
fuck."

“Ok,” Mandy nodded tentatively, clearly not believing her brother.

“Goodwyn looks like a fag,” Iggy offered trying to help and earning a jab from Selena.

“He’s handsome, too,” Selena said plainly, “Anderson Cooper-ish or whatever, but not as hot as  
you, Mickey.” She smiled sweetly.

Mickey smoothed his eyebrows with the thumb and index finger of his right hand trying not to  
snap at the bubbly idiot. Instead he stood up, grabbed another piece of pizza letting it hang out of  
his mouth, and left the room murmuring “Gotta take a shit.”

He could hear a gasp from Selena “He’s gonna poop with pizza in his mouth?” She whispered  
harshly.

Mickey laughed, thinking if he had to live with her, he would damn well try to have fun fucking  
with her.

Chapter Seven: Guilty

Mickey had only been on the outside for a little over a week and had managed to meet with his  
PO, get asked out on a date, see his court appointed counselor, and pin down a job. Even though  
he would just be washing dishes and helping out at at a North Side catering company, he felt like  
he was finally getting his shit together.

"Hear your gonna have a steady paycheck comin' in?" Iggy said patting Mickey on the back as he  
stood eating a sandwich by the kitchen counter.

"Mmmhmm," Mickey confirmed mouth full of turkey, "start Monday."

"Proud of you man," Iggy said opening the fridge and drinking orange juice straight out of the  
carton. It was the Milkovich way. Glasses were for assholes.

"Fuck off," Mickey said without any venom. He was proud of himself too. "Not gonna give any  
money towards bills for a while though. Got something important to take care of first."

"Yeah?" Iggy asked raising his eyebrows curiously.

"Yup," Mickey wiped his face with a napkin, not offering any further explanation.

"Care to elaborate?" Iggy prodded. "You brought it up."

"This shit," Mickey said pulling his tank top to expose his tattoo, "gone."

Iggy stifled his laughter, "Damn, I'll never get over the fact that you did that" He shook his head.  
Mickey gave him the finger and relented "Not my finest moment. Gonna be about $1100 to get it  
removed. If they can't get it all, gonna have to cover it up with something else. More money."

"Shiiiit," Iggy sighed. "Pricey. You should make Gallagher pay. Would've kept it there if he  
wasn't such a dick."

Mickey shrugged, "My own stupid fault I did it. Not tryin' to involve myself with him. Certainly  
don't need his fucking money."

"Boyfriend's money," Iggy shot back. "Ian's still poor as shit without his senator's wallet."

"Governor or some shit," Mickey corrected. "Whatever. Good for him, sucked dick outta this  
place. Don't give a fuck."

"You talk to him since..." Iggy began.

"Nah, man. Told you. One time deal." Mickey didn't mention that his ex-boyfriend had been  
calling him every other day to 'check in'-whatever the fuck that meant. Ian hadn't brought up  
banging and Mickey didn't either. Most of the time Mickey told the asshole he was fine, gave an  
update on what was going on so Ian would leave him alone, and found a way to hang up as  
quickly as possible. "Anyway, I got a date tomorrow."

"A date?" Iggy asked surprised. "You fucking with me?"

Mickey shook his head, "Nah, man. Serious. I'll tell you but you can't fuckin' laugh."

Iggy nodded, "I'll try my damnedest."

"This cop started talkin to me while I was smoking outside the parole office. Funny guy. Doesn't  
look like the typical pig, but doesn't change the fact that he's a fucking cop." Mickey laughed in  
disbelief that he actually has a date with a cop. "He asked me to go to brunch and I said 'yeah'  
cause the guys hot as fuck, but what the hell kinda faggot shit is brunch? Is it breakfast or lunch?"

"Ok, Seinfeld. You're laughing and I'm not allowed to?" Iggy complained with a smile. "Mickey  
Milkovich is literally gonna fuck the police. True irony!" A slew of giggles followed the statement  
from both men.

"Whatever," Mickey grinned ready to change the subject. "Selena won't leave me alone about  
coming to her club with you tonight."

"You should. Showing up is the only way you're gonna shut her up. Believe me," Iggy groused.

"Why the fuck would I want to go watch her shake her titties?" Mickey asked.

"Because I'll pay for all your beer?" Iggy offered.

"Ah, what the hell, I'll go." Mickey relented with a smirk.

"Who needs a senator when you got the Igganator taken care of you," Iggy joked resting his arms  
over Mickey's shoulder and playfully kissing his cheek.

"Alright, alright," Mickey chuckled, "get outta here." He shoved him away with a laugh.

"Titty Tuesday!" Iggy exclaimed as he turned on the game station and threw himself on the couch  
in front of it.

"It's Saturday fuckhead," Mickey took a seat next to him, "toss me other controller. Bout to spank  
that ass."

*

"Ian, baby, come into the office for a minute," Theo called through the intercom as Ian walked in  
the front door to the house, wiping his sweaty face off with the towel draped around his neck.

"Sweaty as fuck, babe, 10 miles. Gotta shower," Ian said pushing the intercom button.

"I'll be quick," Theo promised.

"Fine, but I'm gonna make you lick my balls," Ian retorted kicking off his shoes and socks. He  
walked to the laundry room dropping his towel, sweat soaked hoodie and tank into the hamper  
before heading shirtless down the hall into Theo's office.

"Would've been nice to know you had company," Ian groused when he saw Theo's senior  
advisers Margaret and Sean sitting with Theo at his large conference table.  
Margaret nodded her hello trying desperately to keep her eyes off Ian's 6- pack and the beads of  
sweat slowly dripping down it.

"Hold off on the ball licking until we leave, alright Red," Sean chortled, standing up to shake Ian's  
hand.

Ian felt his cheeks grow warm as he shook the man's hand. Theo came up and kissed his red  
cheek softly, "Sorry. Why don't you go throw on a shirt? This should be fast."

Ian nodded, ran up to their room, threw on a shirt and came back to join them at the table.

"So, Ian, you know Theodore's term is ending next year and he needs to start looking towards his  
future endeavors," Margaret began. She was older woman, no nonsense and tough, "He's been  
approached with several high ranking opportunities, but they're all going to result in us having to  
run a major political campaign."

Ian nodded "Theo told me he may be go for Senator or he could be vetted for Vice President," He  
held his boyfriend's hand and smiled at him, "I'm so proud of him."

"We all are," Sean agreed, "Since you met Theo after he was already in office, you've never been  
through a campaign, Ian. They're brutal. Opponents will drudge up anything they can find on a  
candidate and exploit it."

Ian shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Theo squeezed his hand reassuringly. He knew where this  
was headed. "It's ok, love," Theo whispered.

"Now, Theodore told us that you have a... colorful past," Margaret said clearing her throat. "He  
didn't give us too many details, but we need you to tell us anything about your life up to this point  
that may be perceived as unsavory or controversial."

"And please be as explicit as possible, Ian, so we know what we are working with," Sean added.  
They were both looking at him, pens in hand, notepads on the table ready to write.

"Shit, how much time do you guys have?" Ian let out a sardonic laugh pulling his hand away from  
his boyfriend. "You said this would be quick, Theo."

"Just share as much as you can. We can always set up another meeting if you don't feel  
comfortable sharing everything today," Theo soothed.

Ian sighed, "Ready?" The peanut gallery nodded, "I'll start with the real highlights and then work  
my way back. Joined the army at 17 by using my brother's identity, got in some trouble for trying  
to steal a helicopter which was a misunderstanding but ended up going AWOL." The advisers  
mouths were already hanging agape, "Um, became a stripper, sucked dick for money, made a  
porno that may be hard to find, but I hope you can get your hands on it, since I'd imagine that  
would be shitty for the image..." Ian could feel tears welling up in his eyes.

"You don't have to go on, baby. We can do this another time," Theo said rubbing Ian's neck  
reassuringly.

"A pornographic film. Hmm," Margaret nodded obviously shell shocked from the news.

"Do you have the contact information for the producer?" Sean asked obviously chomping at the  
bit to jump into action.

"No," Ian said softly, "Want me to continue?"

"There's more?" Margaret sputtered wide eyed earning a very angry look from Theo.

"Only finish if you want, Ian. You're doing great," Theo cooed.

"Got diagnosed with bipolar, kidnapped my ex's baby...although I didn't really mean to, I don't  
know. Spent some time in a mental institution." He sighed, "Got picked up by the military police."

The advisors were writing frantically. "Anything else Ian?" Sean questioned. Ian could see the  
pity in the man's eyes. It enraged him.

"I didn't even get to my fucked up family," Ian stated angrily.

"You shared enough for today." Theo assured him. "Why don't you go take that shower and  
relax."

"So you can all talk about what a fucking liability I am as soon as I leave the room?" Ian spat  
angrily standing up from the table.

Theo jumped up with him and wrapped his arms around his waist. Ian willed himself to stay in the  
room. Before he would have run, but he didn't want to. He wanted to be strong.

"I can't deny that he's a liability," Sean said earnestly, looking straight in Theo's eyes as if Ian  
wasn't standing right there.

"We're not doing this right now," Theo warned, pointing his finger at the other man.

"I don't know if this level of damage control is even possible," Margaret admitted, "I'm honestly  
surprised none of this has leaked yet."

"Not possible?" Theo roared. Ian very rarely saw his boyfriend lose his cool. He was typically  
mild tempered. Ian was the hothead in the relationship. "Nothing's impossible! Hire the best  
fucking spin team in the business."

"I need to go," Ian said shakily tears beginning to escape his eyes. "Can't be here anymore."

"I'll come with you," Theo offered, "wherever you want to go."

Ian shook his head, "No." He looked at the advisors and felt partially sorry for them. He knew he  
was making their job difficult with his fucked up past. Fucked up present, too. He turned to Theo.

"I'll be home tomorrow. I promise. Gonna go see Lip."

Theo nodded, "Swear to me you'll come home tomorrow, Ian." Ian could see the fear in his  
Theo's eyes. He had disappeared before. A few days, a few weeks. Manic, not manic. He knew  
he couldn't be trusted. He understood the fear.

"I'll come home tomorrow," Ian confirmed wiping his cheeks with the back of his hands. Ian  
didn't know if he was telling the truth or not, but he hoped he was.

*  
After he stepped out of the shower Ian rolled his phone around in his hands knowing it wasn't the  
right thing to do. It wasn't fair to any of them, but he needed to be with someone that really got  
him.

Mickey still knew him, after all these years. He was both a witness and a victim of the destruction  
caused by the human wrecking ball named Ian Gallagher.

Sometimes Ian thought that he may actually be made of fire, burning those around him before  
combusting himself. He didn't want to kill Theo's career, but just by existing he was scorching the  
earth. He saw the worry in the advisers eyes, like they could see the devastation Ian was capable  
of, but they had no idea. He was so much worse than the assumed. He sighed deeply, ready to  
ignite, and pressed call.

The line clicked to life and he heard the now familiar greeting of, "What."

"What are you wearing?" Ian asked low, husky and playful.

"Fuck off, Gallagher. What do ya want?" Mickey huffed like Ian calling was the most aggravating  
thing in the world.

"You got plans tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Oh yeah?" Ian asked surprised, "What are you up to?"

"Goin with Iggy to his girl's club."

"Where's that?"

"Some South Side shithole."

"I'll meet you there," Ian decided. "What's it called?"

"Weren't invited." Mickey stated.

"C'mon Mick, it'll be fun," Ian suggested, "What's wrong with fun?"

"You and me got different definitions of fun," Mickey informed him with a snort.

Ian smiled, he knew he was in. "Yeah, I know that's not true. Name of the place?"

"Name of the place is 'Go Fuck Yourself.'"

"Sounds like they have an interesting business model," Ian joked. He leaned close to the bathroom  
mirror, examining his pores and waited. There was a heavy silence on the line that lasted for about  
30 seconds, but he didn't try to break it. He never broke first.

Mickey snapped, "You're still fucking impossible, you know that?"

Ian hummed his agreement. No words, just the hum.

"Fine. Candyland on Wallace," Mickey relented with a sigh.

"Sweet!"

"Corny motherfucker," Mickey laughed. "Don't know why you wanna come somewhere you're  
not wanted, you persistent shit."

"What time?" Ian asked ignoring Mickey's annoyance as he toweled off his hair.

"The fuck I know? 8? 9, 10?"

"Great, I'll see you there," Ian confirmed and before Mickey could protest, he ended the call.

Chapter Eight: Dysfunctional

Candyland was shittier than Mickey thought it was going to be, which was pretty bad considering  
he thought it was going to be a complete shithole. It was a small, rundown box with about 20  
square tables, a tiny bar and a rickety old stage with a prominently displaced pole standing in the  
middle of it. The sound system was scratchy and a basic light kit hung over the stage illuminating  
it with changing colors. The whole place reeked like cheap cologne and mold.  
Mickey wondered how Selena pulled in any money. It was a Saturday night and there were only  
10 patrons in seats watching a strung out blonde gyrating on stage. Like the stripper, the customers  
looked rough, worn out and down on their luck. Well, all of them except Ian. He was sitting in the  
table furthest from the stage, grey beanie covering most of his hair, sipping a beer and messing  
with his phone.

“Haven’t talked to the guy, huh?” Iggy teased when he caught sight of the redhead.

Mickey grunted a response tossing his arms up like he didn’t know what the fuck Ian was up to.  
The truth is, he didn’t. He was hoping Ian wouldn’t show up, which he knew was foolish because  
the idiot had been acting like shit wasn’t broken since Mickey got home.

“You his mistress now?” Iggy jabbed, “Don’t let him make you a pussy, man,” When Iggy saw  
Mickey’s face harden and his fists clench, he threw his hands up in surrender as he scurried  
towards the bar, knowing that if he stuck around, he’d be in trouble.

“Shit,” Mickey muttered rubbing his fingers on his forehead. He knew how it looked, but it wasn’t  
like that. He had spent 8 years training himself to move on from Ian and that’s what he planned to  
do. Sure, he had fucked up falling back into bed with him, but shit he was horny and Ian was  
easy. Their physical connection was always addicting. That was it, right? Iggy really couldn’t  
fucking fault a guy for wanting to get his rocks off after being in lock up for years.

“Hey,” Mickey said sitting down at the table. It was still really fucking weird to see Ian. He spent  
years thinking about nothing else but him, then years trying to forget him. Now, there he was in  
front of him. He wondered if it would ever stop being surreal.

“Hey,” Ian said with a beaming smile, “You look good.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey said glancing at Ian and then at the woman on stage like he was interested in  
seeing her shake her shit. His eyes shot back to Ian quickly taking in how great his arms looked in  
his hunter green Henley. Fuck he looked good. He always did. Mickey held off on saying  
anything because he didn’t want to give the cocky bastard the satisfaction. He didn’t have to. Ian’s  
smile got wide when he caught Mickey’s double take.

“Think you’re tough coming around the Milkoviches after you pulled that shit with Mick,  
Gallagher?” Iggy’s voice boomed angrily as he approached the table. A fleeting thought passed  
through Mickey’s mind that he probably should’ve told Iggy Ian may show up. Eh, fuck it. Ian’s  
smile faded quickly. “Know Mandy forgave your ass for what you put him through, but she’s the  
only one. Believe that.” He handed Mickey a bottle of beer and sat down across from Ian taking a  
long swig from his own bottle, eyes fixed angrily on the redhead.

“Yeah, figured I was good to come around with Joey and Colin in lock up,” Ian taunted throwing  
the shit right back, “Seemed pretty safe.”

“Think I won’t fuck you up, bitch?”

Mickey stifled a laugh. There was no way Iggy could take Ian. The man looked sweet, but he was  
a fucking beast. Mickey had fought him enough to know that. He found his brother’s anger and  
protectiveness somewhat comforting. Mickey could take care of himself, but he realized over the  
years that it was ok to lean on people. Maybe it was all that prison counseling, but he wanted shit  
to be different now. He was going to be more open, less scared of what anyone thought. With  
Terry dead, Mickey could live.

“Know you won’t,” Ian replied bluntly, not taking Iggy’s threats seriously in the least. Ian wasn’t  
afraid to fight. He kind of wanted to spar with someone, get out some aggression. He mindlessly  
dropped his hand under the table to touch Mickey’s knee. Mickey moved it away as quick as it  
landed there, but Ian pulled his leg back and rested his hand again. Mickey shot him an annoyed  
look, but wasn’t interested in playing fucking tug o’ war under the table so he didn’t resist again.

“Is that right?” Iggy said leaning forward. This was starting to get comical.

“Settle down, Rumble Fish,” Mickey said with a laugh unable to take it anymore “Shits got fuck  
all to do with you and I can take care of myself, alright?”

Iggy scoffed sitting back again crossing his arms over his chest.

“C’mon Iggy. Doesn’t have to be like this. Let me give you a peace offering.” He patted his lap  
with his free hand, “Come to the bathroom with me.”

“Don’t want your dick, Gallagher,” Iggy sneered, a disgusted look on his face.

“Like I’d fucking give it to you, prick,” Ian stood up and started for the back hallway where the  
bathroom was gesturing for Iggy to follow. “Let’s go. It’s good stuff.” Iggy stood up to follow  
since he wasn’t one to turn down a party favor.

He was stopped immediately by Mickey grabbing his arm and pulling him down close to his face.

“Hey, look at me,” Mickey’s voice was low, serious. “You say shit like that to me again, Ig, that  
pussy shit… I’m going back to jail, you understand? Ain’t a fucking pussy, never have been. I’ll  
remind you if I have to.”

Iggy nodded and hurried after Ian.

“You doin’ that shit a lot,” Mickey asked Ian when he returned to the table a few minutes later.  
Iggy had bypassed the table deciding to head to the bar instead. He was sitting on a stool talking  
animatedly to the bartender.

“Kinda,” Ian admitted, “Just did a little though, you gave me shit last time.” Mickey nodded. Ian’s  
eyes weren’t as wild as they had been the week before.

“I remember,” Mickey said focusing on the label of his second beer, “Shit can’t mix well with  
your meds. You still takin’ em?” He was annoyed that he even gave a shit. It was Ian’s life to fuck  
up. Old habits die hard, though. It was difficult not to look out for the asshole, even when he was  
screaming at himself not to.

“I’m taking them,” Ian confirmed quickly, “It’s just…” His voice trailed off, “Can we not talk  
about it now?” There was no irritation in Ian’s tone, just sadness.

Mickey shrugged like it didn’t matter to him one way or another, but if he was being truthful with  
himself, it did. Ian knew it too, because he cleared his throat uncomfortably and drained his beer  
bottle.

“Want another?” He offered Mickey.

“Sure,” He watched as Ian left the table swallowing the acid that rose in his throat when he  
considered that Ian was still taking heavy ass drugs for his Bipolar, snorting coke (no matter the  
amount), and drinking. 8 years ago he would have played nurse and counselor, trying to get Ian  
back on track. It didn’t work out so well for him then, so it sure as fuck wasn’t a role he was  
willing to assume now that they weren’t together. The irony wasn’t lost on Mickey that he was  
fresh out jail and he seemed to have his shit together more than Ian did. It made him feel equal  
parts smug and glum.

Ian sat back down at the table and placed a beer in front of Mickey. They talked for a while about  
nothing important, making the occasional comment about the dancers or mocking Iggy as he sat  
by the stage to cheer on Selena. His brother seemed set on ignoring their table, maybe due to  
Mickey’s not so subtle threat or wanting to avoid Ian, either way Mickey couldn’t say he cared too  
much.

“This place is fucking depressing,” Ian stated stretching his arms up over his head and sighing.  
Mickey wondered if that could be what was prompting all the weird fucking thoughts he was  
having. The whole vibe was downcast, dingy and dark like the place itself. Though Ian had been  
smiling throughout their time there, there was still a tongue of upset that Mickey could recognize,  
“Wanna go smoke?”

“I could,” Mickey nodded.

They headed out of the club and leaned against the old brick wall. Ian put a cigarette in his mouth,  
lit it and then slid it between Mickey’s lips. Mickey hummed his appreciation and watched as Ian  
lit his own. It was cold out, but Mickey’s body felt warm thanks to the three bottles of beer he had  
drank. He was never a lightweight, but after not drinking for years, he was easily buzzed by just a  
few drinks. He reveled in how crisp the air was, he would never take being outside for granted  
again. The sound of an insistent vibration pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Your phone hasn’t stopped ringing since I got here,” Mickey remarked looking at Ian out of the  
side of his eye.

“I know,” Ian said pulling his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at it, rolled his eyes and sighed.  
Mickey covertly looked over his shoulder at the text message on the screen.

\---Baby, if you don’t call me and let me know you’re alright I’m going to have to call the police.---

“I gotta…” Ian began holding his phone up in explanation. Mickey gestured for him to go ahead  
and looked the other way.

Mickey didn’t envy Ian’s boyfriend in the least. He knew the pain the guy was feeling. He was  
too aware of that panic that was rising up his back and tightening his chest. He had been on the  
other side of the phone line, pleading, reasoning, and crying. He had breathed out the “I love  
yous” and “please come homes.”

“I told you I would be back tomorrow, don’t call the fucking police,” Ian whispered harshly.  
Mickey continued to smoke his cigarette as he listened to Ian’s side of the conversation and could  
hear what the man on the other side of the line was saying, though it was soft and muffled. “I  
know you worry.”   
“I’m fine.”   
“No, I’m not mad”   
“Tomorrow.”   
\---I love you--- 

Ian didn’t respond right away. Mickey felt a heaviness in his chest as he waited to hear Ian’s response. He didn’t  
want the first time he heard Ian ever say the words “I love you” to be while he was talking to  
another man. Even though he had moved on, it wasn’t something that he could bear. He exhaled  
the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when Ian said “Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sorry about that,” Ian shutting his phone off and shoving it back in his pocket. He leaned next to  
Mickey and stared up at the stars, “Can kinda see them tonight, huh?”

“You disappear?” Mickey asked not allowing Ian to change the subject.

Ian shrugged, “Lots of shit going on.” He was still looking at the sky, not daring to look in  
Mickey’s eyes, scared to see the judgement that he knew they held.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Don’t really wanna talk about,” Ian said with a sigh, eyes now turning to find Mickey’s.

“Seems to be your answer for a lot of things,” Mickey remarked. He bit the inside of his cheek,  
debating on whether he wanted to go there, and decided that he may as well. He was willing to  
poke the bear. “You’re not doin well, Ian.”

“How the fuck would you know how I’m doing Mickey?” Ian barked defensively, body  
straightening to show his height, posturing, “Haven’t been around for years...”

Mickey laughed wryly, “Gonna kick my ass, Gallagher? Cause I’m statin’ the obvious? The coke,  
drinking, fucking, runnin’. Saw all this shit before, man. Doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re  
fucked up, outta balance.”

Ian’s breath was beginning to race, his face turning pink. Mickey remembered this part well, too.  
The denial, the anger.

“Calm the fuck down, tough guy,” Mickey cajoled resting his hand on the redheads shoulder. He  
dropped his cigarette and reached up with the other hand to pull off Ian’s beanie and run his  
fingers through that red hair. He knew how to calm him. Knew how to settle him down. Ian’s  
breath slowed into a gentle purr at the touch, his faced softened, “I still worry about your ass, ok?  
Don’t wanna but still do. Old habits.”

Ian dropped his cigarette as well and moved in closer. “Mick,” Ian breathed. Mickey turned his  
head to the side staring into the parking lot, trying to avoid his face because he knew what would  
happen if he looked, “Mickey…” Ian’s voice was slightly sing songy and sweet now, “Mickey.  
Look at me.” Mickey turned to look at him, trying so hard to be annoyed, turned off, or  
aggravated, but he couldn’t get to any of them. Ian placed both hands against the brick wall at the  
level of Mickey’s ears and leaned over to gently press his lips against the brunet’s. The kiss was  
pure and tender. Their mouths opened slightly just enough to lick at the others lips and for the tip  
of their tongues to meet. Ian pulled back his face looking lovesick and lost, “I don’t want you to  
worry.”

“Wish I didn’t,” Mickey admitted quietly. That was the fucking truth, but seeing Ian like this  
brought him back in time. Clicked him back into the role he wanted to abandon, thought he had  
left far behind.

“You know what I need,” Ian dropped his mouth down to Mickey’s ear and whispered pleadingly

“Please, will you do it for me. Need it so bad.” Mickey knew what he was asking for, knew what  
he needed. He could count on one hand the amount of times Ian asked him to take it there.

“Go ask your boyfriend, Ian,” Mickey offered gently, “Ain’t fucking right to cheat on the guy.”

“He couldn’t. Never has,” Ian was staring at Mickey now, his eyes pleading, “Need you. Please  
Mick.”

Mickey sighed, “You’re fucking impossible, Gallagher.” If Ian wasn’t going to worry about his  
fucking boyfriend, why should he?

Ian planted another soft kiss on Mickey’s lips before standing up and turning his phone back on.

“I’ll get an uber.”

He was fucking around on the app when he heard a booming voice call. “Ian Goowyn!” A big,  
burly man was barreling towards them with a big smile on his round face, “You’re Ian Goodwyn,  
right?” He reached out to shake Ian’s hand. Mickey stood back to watch the exchange, his  
eyebrows lifted with amusement.

“Uh, not Goodwyn yet,” Ian said shaking the guys hand back, “Gallagher.”

“Well I’ll be damned. My wife is gonna shit herself when I tell her. Her and all her girlfriends are  
always talking about the cutest gay couple on this side of the Mississippi,” He exclaimed  
excitedly. Ian laughed awkwardly. He was used to being recognized, but not with this level of  
energy, “What the hell is a fag like you doing at a titty bar?” He caught a glare from Mickey and  
an uncomfortable shift from Ian and said quickly, “I don’t mean fag bad you know? Love is love  
is love.”

Ian gave him a slight smile, “Here with some friends,” He responded courteously.

“Fucking awesome. Listen can I grab a picture with you? Wife won’t believe me unless I do,” He  
chirped handing Mickey his cell phone. Mickey laughed at the absurdity and Ian stood next to the  
guy looking like he was in pain but forced his lips to turn up.

“Alright, say cheese motherfuckers,” Mickey said with a shit eating grin on his face. He handed  
the camera back to the man, who took it and then wrapped Ian up in the most uncomfortable hug  
known to man.

“I’ll catch you guys in there, ok? Buy you a beer!”

Ian and Mickey both gave him a slight nod and watched him enter Candyland. “Let’s get the fuck  
outta here,” Ian laughed sliding his finger through Mickey’s belt loop and pulling the brunet  
towards him so he could plant another kiss on his lips.

Chapter Nine: Rough

Ian couldn’t keep his hands off Mickey while they rode in the Uber to the Carlton. Mickey was  
scooted as close to the window as he could get, trying to get away from the grabby redhead. Ian  
was practically sitting on top of him, rubbing his legs, kissing his neck, nipping at his ear,  
becoming a second skin. When he was behind bars, Mickey had promised himself that he would  
never hide again, but that didn’t mean public displays of affection were his thing. He nervously  
looked at the guy driving the car. He was glancing at the men through rear view mirror a smirk  
playing on his lips.

“C’mon man,” Mickey whispered harshly at Ian giving him a light shove so he would back off.  
He came right back.

“Can’t,” Ian breathed, eyes intense with want, “Need you.” He leaned closer to Mickey’s ear,

“Wanna taste you. Don’t go easy on me, Mick. Fuck me up, make me bleed. I need it.”  
Mickey opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead, he drew his eyes back to the  
window as Ian latched onto him like a goddam leach continuing to whisper hotly in his ear and  
planting kisses on his neck.

Mickey knew what Ian wanted, what he needed. He had given it to him like that only a few times  
before, all after his diagnosis, as he was moving out of a manic phase. It had always been in the  
heat of the moment when they were already screaming, fighting, fists cracking against bone, tears  
threatening their eyes, insults wounding worse than the punches. Mickey just wasn’t in that head  
space anymore. Sure, he still had some anger towards Ian, but he had released much of it in  
prison. He had learned to cope with it, move past it for the most part, he was less invested, further  
removed.

Ian was craving punishment, looking for a way to atone for his multitude sins. He needed physical  
pain to take away the emotional anguish and make him feel like he was there, in his body, not  
stuck in his tormented mind, a slave to something other than his thoughts. He wanted to feel  
grounded, controlled, owned.

They were pulling up to the hotel and something in Ian snapped. It was as if he knew that Mickey  
needed to feel rage to make this happen, because what he did next made Mickey see fucking red.

“Wanna know who takes it?” Ian asked the driver loudly, clearly baiting the beast.

The driver laughed uncomfortably pulling the car to a stop. Mickey shot his body around quickly  
and shoved Ian hard against the other window.

“This bitch right here,” Ian boasted crawling towards Mickey again with a dead ass smirk on his  
lips as he reached over to squeeze Mickey’s cheeks, “I give it to him good and hard and he  
fucking loves it. Begs for more.” He pulled Mickey’s face just inches away from his own and  
hissed, “You fucking love it don’t you? My good little bitch.”

Both the driver and Mickey turned the same dark crimson. Mickey pushed Ian back again, this  
time hard enough to cause the man’s head to crash against the window. The brunet opened the  
door enraged and stomped his way into the hotel, cracking his knuckles and shaking his head from  
side to side as he tore through the lobby. It was empty save a few employees who Mickey gave  
terse nod towards. He was going to fucking kill him. He heard Ian racing up behind him, so he  
walked faster to the elevator.

As soon as the elevator door closed behind them Mickey picked Ian up by his neck and slammed  
him against the wall with a sick thud, the anger giving increased strength to his already able  
muscles. “You’re fucking done,” He growled as his blue eyes narrowed into those panicking  
green ones.

They got to the penthouse and Ian waved his key in front of the sensor with shaky hands. He  
should be fucking scared. Mickey entered the room after Ian and tore off his own jacket. Rage  
was coursing through his veins moving quicker and more efficiently than his blood. He pinched  
the spot between his eyes with his index finger and thumb, trying to slow his heart-rate a bit. No  
use. The next sound he heard was the disgusting crack of his fist meeting Ian’s jaw, dropping the  
taller man immediately to the ground. He climbed on top of his ex and grabbed Ian’s cheeks with  
his right hand, “Who’s the bitch now you sick fuck?” He ridiculed spitting deliberately and angrily  
on Ian’s face.

Ian struggled out from under Mickey wiping his face with the arm of his jacket before pulling it  
off. As he tossed it aside he noticed a smear of blood now staining the army green cotton. He  
raised his hand to his lip, pulled them back to see red coating his fingers. He felt tears stinging in  
his eyes. Mickey stood up, now towering over the man still sitting on the floor. “All of it,” Mickey  
ordered watching as Ian slowly peeled off his layers until he was naked, waiting. “Look at you,”  
Mickey shook his head and laughed sardonically at the sight of Ian in front of him, “Such a  
fucking slut.”

Mickey made short work of unbuckling his pants, pushing the material of his boxer briefs aside so  
he could pull his cock out. He loved the power of being dressed while Ian was so exposed. “Suck  
it good, bitch.”

Ian took the half hard dick in his hand and began to slowly lap at the tip. He let his tongue drag  
down to swirl around the head, his lips leaving a trail of blood as he did. Mickey shuddered at the  
sight, partially disgusted with himself and Ian, but mostly really fucking turned on. He was at full  
hardness now as Ian worked the length of his shaft with his hand, twisting and pumping as he  
continued to lick Mickey lavishly.

“Give me your hands,” Mickey demanded grabbing both of Ian’s wrists with one of his hands,  
and holding them up above Ian’s head, so he couldn’t use them, “Now, deep throat it.” Mickey  
pushed forward hard as Ian drew him in. He could feel the tip of his dick hitting the back of Ian’s  
throat but the redhead was dutifully taking it, fighting through gags, not brave enough to complain  
this time. Mickey dropped his free hand to Ian’s head continuing to guide him forward and back  
on his now leaking cock. Ian groaned at the taste which drew a laugh out Mickey, “Fucking cum  
slut.”

Ian whined on Mickey’s dick trying to pull his hands from the man’s strong grip. Mickey looked  
down at Ian’s huge hard on, angry, red and demanding touch. He tsked twice, shaking his head,  
“Not happening. Think you’ve been good? You deserve that?”

Mickey was still heavy in Ian’s mouth as the redhead shook his head no, eyes staring up at  
Mickey adoringly.

“You do look pretty down there with my dick in your mouth, Gallagher,” Mickey breathed his  
knees beginning to shake as he watched Ian work his cock like a pro. The little compliment had  
Ian sucking harder, so desperate for praise, forgiveness.

"Fuuuuck,” He let out a long sigh dropping Ian’s wrists so he could rub his forehead, trying to still  
himself against the sensation. He glanced down to see Ian had immediately dropped his hand to  
his own cock prompting Mickey knocked it away quickly, “Yeah, not happening. Get up.” Ian  
released Mickey from his mouth with a pop and rose to his feet with Mickey’s hand pulling up his  
hair to ‘help’ him. His lips were as red as the blood now caked on the side of his mouth. He was  
beautiful, just looking at him like this got Mickey high. “Get onto the bed and prep yourself.”

“Will you do it for me?” Ian asked meekly, “You open me up so good. Can’t do it like you.”

Mickey scoffed and exclaimed to the walls in the room, “This fuckin’ guy! Get the fuck in there  
and don’t ask me shit again.”

Ian walked to the bedroom and laid down on the bed, head resting on the pillows, legs in spread in  
front of him. He reached for the lube that he had tossed there before he left for Candyland.  
Presumptuous fucker.

“On your hands and knees,” Mickey stated simply kicking his shoes and socks off so he could  
climb onto the bed.

“It’s really hard for me to do it that way,” Ian groused as he complied with Mickey’s demand.

“Oh really? Call ‘who gives a shit’ and tell them.” He kneeled behind Ian and dug his left hand  
into the redheads left hip, allowing Ian the space to open himself with his right hand. He watched  
for a minute as Ian’s long finger dipped in and out of his tight, barely fucked hole. Ian rested his  
cheek on the mattress so that he could look back at Mickey knowing that seeing the other man’s  
face would make it easier.

Mickey tightened his grip on Ian and leaned over to bite down on his ass cheek…hard.. drawing a  
yelp from Ian’s lips. He looked at his work and smiled at the perfect indentations left behind. He  
returned to the spot and bit him again, harder this time. Ian let out a pained groan and Mickey  
pulled off. He rubbed the area a bit, kneading and clawing knowing his mark would be there for  
days a thought that made his cock twitch and grow even harder. He opened his palm and began to  
message the cheek causing Ian’s moans to increase and soften. Mickey checked Ian’s progress as  
he worked his hole and said, “Add another one.”

Ian pulled his finger out, reached for the lube and coated two fingers reaching back, pushing them  
into his tightness with a wince. Mickey lifted his own hand, bringing it up high enough to give  
him the momentum to land a brutal slap down on Ian’s ass causing a raging red mark to appear on  
his pale skin immediately. Ian keened biting down on his arm to transfer the pain. Mickey drew  
back again landing another hard spank on the same cheek.

“Shit,” Ian whimpered, dropping his fingers from his ass and drawing his hands up to his head so  
he could hide his face in them.

Mickey pulled his hand from Ian’s hip, bending down to lick the deep marks left from where he’d  
been gripping him. He grabbed the lube, slicked up three fingers and pushed into Ian to check his  
readiness. Ian pushed back on him, a needy stutter in his hips. “Pretty good,” Mickey murmured  
pulling his pants and boxers off hastily. Ian was looking back at him now, his face completely  
wrecked and desperate.

Mickey smirked at his disposition and reached for a condom surprised it was in a black wrapper  
instead of the typical gold. This was all premeditated. The arrogant grin fell quickly from  
Mickey’s face when he realized that Ian had replaced his magnums with regular condoms.

“Fucking asshole.”

“Wanted it to fit,” Ian drawled summoning the energy to release a soft laugh.

“Hmm,” Mickey hummed sliding the condom on and coating himself generously with lube, “Let’s  
see if you’re laughing here in a minute, tough guy. Imma bout to pound that ass.”  
Ian’s breath hitched as he craned his neck back to see Mickey as he lined himself up to Ian’s hole.  
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting Ian adjust around him. He was going to fuck him in  
half, but he didn’t want to rip the guy in the process. Ian was holding his breath and grabbing at  
the comforter so tightly that his knuckles were turning an impossible shade of white. “Breathe  
Ian,” Mickey croaked, overwhelmed by how fucking good and warm Ian felt around him. Ian  
drew in a deep breath and exhaled just as Mickey bottomed out.

“Fuck,” Ian cried out loudly beginning to squirm under Mickey, who in turn gripped Ian’s hips  
steady with both hands.

“Drop your shoulders,” Mickey ordered still holding Ian’s hips up. Ian complied splaying his arms  
out in front of him, face dug into the mattress. Mickey got to his feet so Ian’s body was fully  
diagonal and rolled himself into Ian slowly at first before beginning to increase his speed and  
depth. Ian’s muffled moans filled the room as Mickey picked up his tempo, pistoning into Ian with  
an absurd amount of leverage.

Mickey was so fucking deep in him he could hear the sound of his balls slapping against Ian’s ass  
with a rhythmic cadence. His pace would have been brutal, even for an experienced bottom like  
Mickey. Ian was falling apart underneath him desperately trying to claw himself away from  
Mickey, but the brunet held that grip on his hips pulling him back ruthlessly with every plunge,

“Laughing yet?” He jeered landing a hard smack on Ian’s unspanked cheek.

Ian let out an inhumane moan and shook his head no frantically; coming undone from the  
punishment he was enduring. Mickey slowed his pace a bit and saw tears streaming down the  
redheads face as he laid his cheek on the mattress attempting to catch his breath. He just filled him  
up for a minute, not moving at all, letting him recover. When Mickey pulled out quickly, Ian  
groaned at the loss, “That’s my needy little slut,” Mickey croaked grabbing Ian under his armpits  
and flipping him over so his back hit the headboard hard.

Ian’s cut body was looser than Jello as Mickey positioned him, throwing the pillows onto the  
ground so that Ian’s was crushed against the wood headboard, practically bent in half. Mickey  
crossed Ian’s legs in front of him so that his knees were pushed against his chest, ankles over his  
knees, “Almost done with you,” Mickey breathed as he shoved back inside of Ian’s abused hole.  
Ian gasped and shut his eyes tight as Mickey pounded into him, his forearms pushing back on  
Ian’s legs so they were practically in his face. Ian desperately tried to reach for his own cock, but  
the angle was wrong and he couldn’t get a good stroke. “Fucking take that cock,” Mickey  
growled as Ian’s head banged back against the headboard with every thrust.

Ian dug his fingers into Mickey’s shoulders, his green eyes open now and brighter than ever from  
the tears that were filling them. Mickey continued to hammer him for what felt like hours, but was  
probably more like a few minutes, “Kiss me,” Ian pleaded voice broken, body battered.  
Mickey rolled his eyes and pulled out of Ian completely. Ian wailed his protest as Mickey pulled  
off the condom and dropped Ian’s legs allowing them to fall in front of him like a ragdoll, “Kiss  
me,” Mickey said pulling Ian’s head forward so his mouth could wrap obediently around  
Mickey’s dick. He was like dead weight under him but took Mickey in. Mickey scoffed at Ian’s  
lazy pace and began to fuck his face hard. Ian didn’t try to draw back his gags and Mickey didn’t  
stop at the sound.

When Mickey felt his balls tightening and that familiar burning in his stomach he pulled out of  
Ian’s mouth with a groan and shot white ribbons all over the redheads face. He caught his breath  
for a minute and looked down at Ian whose face was covered in Mickey’s cum. He grabbed Ian’s  
hand and pulled it up so it was in front of his face. He pushed down all of Ian’s fingers but his  
middle and told him, “Clean yourself up.” Ian tentatively ran his finger over his face collecting up  
the cum and licking it off his finger several times until he was relatively clean.

“Finish yourself,” Mickey demanded laying back so he was propped up on his elbows, eyes  
watching Ian hotly.

Ian dropped his hand to his throbbing, neglected cock and began to work himself slowly. His red  
mouth fell open into a perfect ‘o’ and it only took a few strokes before he was cumming all over  
his own stomach with a guttural cry. He collapsed down his body looking twisted and broken,  
desperate to have his head against the bed, “Thank you,” Ian sniffed his voice wavering with  
emotion.

Mickey crawled over to Ian, ruffled up his hair a little and planted a kiss on the top of his head,  
“Let’s get you in the shower, you’re a fuckin’ mess.”

“Kiss first?” Ian urged softly.

Mickey grinned and pressed his lips softly against Ian’s. He tasted like cum and blood, but Mickey  
liked it. They languidly deepened the kiss, melting into each, kissing like that until they both  
needed air.

“I love you,” Ian breathed as soon as their lips disconnected his eyes staring up into Mickey's with  
such clarity it sent a chill down the brunet's spine, instantly robbing him of his breath once again.

Chapter Ten: Heart

Stillness enveloped the room as Mickey stared at Ian attempting to comprehend the words that had  
tumbled so earnestly from his mouth. Words that Mickey had longed to hear for so many years,  
through so many of their trials, but never did. The same words that he had been brave enough to  
share, time and time again, though they were never reciprocated. The definition of emotions that  
Mickey didn’t know he could feel, but Ian taught him, inspired him, dragged out of him in the  
most pure and natural way. Four letters that hadn’t existed in his world until Ian.

A word that he had etched in his skin, hands shaky with pain, represented by that redhead’s name.  
Words that had failed him, that weren’t enough, that had set him ablaze while trying to harness a  
raging wildfire, scorched earth in his wake, burning down everything that surrounded him. The  
emotion that had ensconced him like an armor while he fought a war for and against the man in  
front of him, pushing him to go on and endure, because he was worth it… they were worth it.  
Battles that he didn’t have the fervor to fight anymore, couldn’t fight anymore. The years had  
worn down his resolve and bled his heart, forcing him to love inward rather than outward. Finding  
that emotion within himself, spelling those words on his soul, the only companion he could trust.  
29 years flashed before him, a montage of moments, a spiral of emotion featuring faces he hadn’t  
seen in nearly a decade, would never see again. People he was supposed to love, but didn’t,  
someone he did love, but shouldn’t.

“Don’t,” Mickey softly warned his voice carrying no threat of anger of sadness.

“I do, Mickey. I always have, you knew that, right? I did. I do. I love…” Ian began sitting up  
quickly, a burst of energy surging through him waking his broken body back to life.

Mickey shook his head no, cutting Ian off, blue eyes boring into green not pleading but deciding,

“Just… don’t.” He reached his hand up to run his fingers back through the redhead’s hair  
attempting to soothe the aching in Ian’s eyes. Ian nodded sullenly, understanding, accepting.

“Shower? You’re all nasty.” Ian nodded again this time grinning and rolling off the bed.

“Remember when we were in elementary school and would put glue on our hands and then peel it  
off really slowly? That’s kinda how my skin feels right now,” Ian informed him as Mickey  
followed him into the palatial bathroom.

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Mickey laughed shedding his flannel top and wife beater before turning the  
shower on, waiting for the water to warm, “Sniffed too much goddamn glue is what you did.”  
Ian gave him that smile where he crinkles up his nose just a little before grabbing two wash  
clothes off the vanity.

Mickey stepped into the shower and reveled in the three showerheads that were pounding water  
onto his sore body. One was even coming out of the fucking ceiling like rain. “I can’t even tell  
you how crazy amazing this shit is after being in there for so long,” He sighed soaking every drop  
this glorious shower was giving him.

“Being with me?” Ian asked joining him in the roomy, tiled box.

“No you narcissistic fuck. The shower!” Mickey exclaimed with a hearty laugh, “This shower is  
doing shit to me that you could never do.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Ian chuckled, while allowing the water to rinse his sinful skin.

“ ‘m fuckin serious,” Mickey hummed turning to face Ian’s back. He soaped up a washcloth and  
began rubbing it on the taller man's shoulder.

“Feels good,” Ian sighed dropping his head forward streams of water pouring off his fiery hair.

“Gonna tell me what’s going on with you…” Mickey prompted.

“So much is fucked up,” Ian admitted, head still low.

“Other things or you?” Mickey asked gently.

“Both, I guess,” He replied meekly.

“The coke?”

“It’s bad. I know that. Like, in theory I get it, but it just makes me feel so good. It’s like…” He  
began turning so he was facing Mickey now pushing his hair back out of his face, “the meds help,  
ok? But they make me feel flat. Regardless of how good the cocktail is, things are still just a little  
cloudy, murky. I don’t know. But the coke,” He licked his lips and looked up like he was  
searching for words, “It’s all the fucking best parts of my disorder right at my fingertips. I crave it.  
I get the euphoria, the mania and I don’t have to exist in it for weeks and then crash down. I get to  
feel it for an hour, and then go back to flat. If I want to feel it for longer, I snort more. It feels like  
the answer to everything. Like I can be me, but still be ok, I guess? I don’t know. Probably  
doesn’t make any fucking sense, but that’s what it is.”

Mickey nodded, “It makes sense. I’m not saying it’s a good fucking idea, but it makes sense.  
You’re a grown man, Gallagher. Can’t tell you how to live your life, but you know you have to  
get that shit under control.”

“I know,” Ian agreed. He reached over to turn off the shower and grabbed a white, fluffy terry  
bathrobe from the hook outside the stall offering it to Mickey.

“Yeah, no,” Mickey huffed grabbing two towels. He dried himself off and wrapped one around  
his waist and the other around his shoulders as Ian shrouded himself in the robe.

“What else?,” Mickey asked as he made his way back to the bed, lifting the heavy comforter and  
crawling under it. He laid on his side, head sinking into the cloud like pillow and yawned.

“You’re getting the sheets all wet,” Ian groused grabbing the wet towel from Mickey’s waist and  
tossing it on the ground. Mickey rolled his eyes and got rid of the one he had around his shoulder  
finding it easier to just do what the princess wanted rather than to hear him complain. Ian shed the  
robe before climbing under the covers resting his head on the same pillow as Mickey, face just  
inches away from the other man’s.

“Things with Theo are good. They really are. But, it’s complicated,” Ian confessed. It should have  
been weird, them laying there, talking about Ian’s relationship, but it didn’t feel that way.

“Complicated how?”

Ian filled Mickey in on the meeting with Margaret and Sean and how exposed he felt. He  
described the overwhelming expectations to be perfect, not from Theo, but from the public and the  
eyes that were always on him. He lamented about the inadequacy he felt in the face of it all. He  
went on and on for about an hour, all the while Mickey listened attentively and urged him to  
continue.

“It’s not that I don’t like the attention…,” Ian snickered, a smile playing on his lips. It was the first  
smile he had cracked during the conversation.

“No way, you?” Mickey grinned in mock surprise. Ian closed the space between them and kissed  
his sarcastic mouth. He reached down to entwine his fingers with Mickey’s, happy that the brunet  
allowed it. “Seriously, it sounds tough, man. A lot to handle.”

Ian nodded, “It is. It feels like stupid shit to complain about being from where we’re from.”

“Not stupid,” Mickey shook his head, earning him another kiss from Ian, “But your guy is  
supportive, right?”

Ian cringed for a moment at the mention of Theo and then shook his head affirmatively, “Really  
supportive.”

“That’s good,” Mickey said honestly, a huge yawn following his statement. He was glad that the  
guy treated Ian well. He fucking knew it wasn’t easy to do sometimes. Part of him felt a sadness  
that it wasn’t him, he couldn’t deny that, he probably did still love Ian, but the larger part of him  
felt relief to be off the roller coaster. Though Ian was going through a tough time, he had found  
someone to put up with his shit and fuck knows there was a lot of it.

“Go to sleep,” Ian whispered twisting and reaching to turn off the bedside lamp, he settled back to  
his warm space on the pillow giving Mickey one last sweet peck before they drifted off to sleep.

*

“Where you going?” Ian mumbled opening his eyes sleepily to see Mickey pulling on his pants.

“What time is it?”

“It’s 10:00, sleepyhead,” Mickey said leaning down to kiss Ian’s forehead, “Got things to do.”

“What kinda things?” Ian asked sitting up a little and stretching his arms with a groan. “Feel like I  
got railed by a freight train.”

“Pretty much did,” Mickey laughed and Ian grinned his goofy grin, “Brunch.”

“Come again?” Ian asked eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“No time, got brunch,” Mickey joked buttoning his shirt.

“Since when do you “do” brunch?” Ian scoffed.

“You ain’t the only one gettin’ fancy, Gallagher,” Mickey informed him with a shrug. He was in a  
good fucking mood. He was really looking forward to this gay ass brunch date with the hot cop.

“You’re going on a date,” Ian realized eyes wide with amazement.

“Don’t look so fucking shocked, Firecrotch,” Mickey snapped without much venom.

“You don’t go on dates,” Ian said slowly still in disbelief.

“Guess I do,” Mickey grinned, “Anyway gotta go.”

“Who are you going to brunch with?” Ian asked, spitting out the word brunch. He now fucking  
hated brunch. What the fuck is brunch anyway?

“Fucking hot ass cop,” Mickey said simply, grabbing a few of the condoms with the black  
wrappers off the end of the bed and shoving them in his wallet, “Thanks.” He said before  
returning his wallet back into his pant pocket.

Ian sat there looking like he got bitch slapped as Mickey practically bounced out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worked in porn for 3 years...still haven't met Jake Bass.  
> Fuck 12.

Chapter Eleven: Go

“Ian, baby, is that you?” Theo called hurrying into the foyer as soon as he heard the front door  
pull open.

“Hi,” Ian greeted his boyfriend weakly as the older man pulled Ian tightly into his body. Theo felt  
solid and safe wrapped around him. Ian buried his face into his neck inhaling the familiar scent of  
Yves Saint Laurent and reached his hand up to cradle the other man’s head.

Theo held Ian close, letting out a long exhale “So happy you’re home.” After another moment of  
the embrace, he moved both of his hands to cup Ian’s cheeks, steely grey eyes studying his face  
worriedly, “What happened to your lip?”

“Ran into an old friend,” Ian muttered uncomfortably. His boyfriend looked like the weight of the  
world had fallen off his shoulders just having Ian back in his arms and Ian felt like a dick.

“Let’s get you some ice,” Theo soothed grabbing Ian’s hand and leading him towards the kitchen.

“It’s fine,” Ian said, “Iced it last night.”

“Did you stay at the Carlton?” Theo asked going for the ice anyway. He wrapped it in a paper  
towel and pressed it down gently on Ian’s busted lip.

“Mmmhmm,” Ian confirmed, “Sorry I didn’t come home, just needed time.”

“Don’t apologize, ok? I felt like shit, Ian. I know how hard that conversation was for you. I’m the  
one that should be sorry. I hate that I’m putting you through this,” Theo apologized, “Your past is  
your past. It’s what made you into the amazing man you are today. You have nothing to be  
ashamed of.”

Ian scoffed in disbelief, “I have a million things to be ashamed of.” Guilt and shame rose up in his  
throat leaving an acidic burn in their wake.

“No,” Theo shook his head stroking Ian’s cheek lovingly, “I have your back, Ian. You know that,  
right? None of this matters to me without you. Look at me.” Ian pulled his eyes up, forcing  
himself to look into Theo’s soft patient eyes, “I love you, Ian. It’s me and you, ok? All this other  
stuff..” He swatted his hand for emphasis, “nothing.”

Ian nodded feeling vacuous, exhausted.

“I’m going to prove it to you,” Theo promised.

“I need a shower,” Ian mumbled tossing the ice into the sink and brushing a light kiss against  
Theo’s cheek.

“Ian,” Theo breathed grabbing onto his boyfriend’s wrist, holding him in his space before he  
could run away again, “Do you love me?”

Ian sniffed uncomfortably, “You know I do, Theo.”

“You know I need to hear it after you…” Theo paused searching for a word, “Disappear.”

Ian nodded, understanding, “I love you.”

Theo’s full lips broke into a relieved smile and he planted a sweet kiss on the good side of Ian’s  
lips, “It’s still early. You grab a shower and we’ll head over to The Winchester for brunch. I’ll get  
our favorite table and we can stare out at the lake and get drunk on Mimosas, ok?”

“No brunch,” Ian croaked shaking his head, “Something else. A bike ride. I don’t know. Not  
brunch.”

“You live for brunch,” Theo gasped in disbelief that Ian would ever turn down Mimosas at The  
Winchester.

“Fuck brunch, ok!” Ian roared taking Theo by surprise, “I fucking hate it.”

Theo threw his hands up in surrender, eyes wide, “Fuck brunch. Got it. No brunch.”

Ian sighed and wrapped his boyfriend in his arms, “I’m sorry. I’m all fucked up right now.”

“Don’t apologize,” Theo soothed running his hands through Ian’s hair, “But you are going to  
explain to me later what brunch ever did to you.”

Ian let out a choked laugh and buried his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder.

*

Mickey steeled himself before he entered the quant North Side café. Who the fuck was he? Was  
he this guy? The guy that goes on fucking brunch dates on Sunday morning? Breakfast without  
even waking up from a night of fucking the guy?

His mind momentarily flashed to his father. Shit, he wished Terry could see his faggot son now. If  
he wasn’t already dead, this shit would kill him. Out and proud(ish), going to brunch, with a  
motherfucking pig. Mickey smiled a defiant smile as he pulled open the door. He was going to  
have a good ass time. Fuck that dead motherfucker.

He hardly recognized the cop as the man gave Mickey a slight wave, standing up from the stool  
that he was sitting on by the large mahogany bar. He was wearing a white collared shirt with  
epaulets on the shoulders, sleeves rolled up casually and dark skinny jeans. Mickey hadn’t noticed  
that the man had a shit ton of tattoos. He could see birds or some shit on his chest peeking out  
from where the top button of his shirt lay open. He had a huge flower on the side of his neck,  
which Mickey thought was pretty gay, but damn if he didn’t pull it off and make it look badass.  
His hands were tatted too, more flowers. How the fuck did Mickey miss that?

“Hey there,” The cop said leaning in for a hug, which ended up being the most awkward hug ever  
because Mickey just kinda stood there. He wasn’t a hugger. He wasn’t a brunch eating hugger.  
What the fuck was he doing here?

“Uh, hey,” Mickey said nervously, “You have a lot of tattoos.”

The cop laughed and gave Mickey an impish smile, “I wear a turtleneck and gloves with my  
uniform.”

“What do you do in the summer?” Mickey asked dumbly, cursing his stupid mouth for being such  
a goober.

“A dicky and fingerless lifting gloves,” The cop said rubbing his neck and not so discreetly  
running his gorgeous icy green eyes over Mickey, lifting his dark brows appreciatively, “You look  
fucking good.”

Mickey felt his cheeks heat up and he was sure he was blushing, “Uh, yeah, you too.” He gnawed  
on his lower lip nervously, just looking at the guy in front of him who was looking back at him.  
Thankfully, a hostess came over and broke the awkward, sexually tense stare off, “Jake, party of  
2, your table is ready.” Mickey realized he had forgotten hot cop’s name. Jake. 'Fuck, Jake.' 'Right  
there, Jake.' Ok, it worked.

Jake smiled and followed the hostess, grabbing Mickey’s wrist to pull him along.  
They took their seats, “Ivan will be right with you, but can I get you started with drinks?  
Mimosas? Bloodies?”

“I’ll have a Bloody,” Jake said picking up the menu.

“Um, Jack and orange juice,” Mickey sniffed, flicking his nose with his knuckle nervously. All his  
ticks were out to play today.

“Jack Daniels and orange juice?” The hostess asked, making sure that she had heard him  
correctly.

“That a problem?” Mickey jeered causing the young girl to shake her head no emphatically and  
shuffle away from table, full speed.

“That’s fucking nasty,” Jake laughed looking at Mickey over his menu. Mickey instinctively  
threw his middle finger up at the cop, causing Jake to laugh louder, “You’re pretty funny.”

“Not tryin’ to be,” Mickey shot back busying himself with the menu.

“I know, that’s why it’s so cute,” He informed Mickey, a smirk on those full lips. Did this guy  
ever stop smiling?

“Cute, huh? Been called a lot of things, cute ain’t one of them,” Mickey said rubbing his neck  
uncomfortably.

“You don’t take a compliment well,” Jake decided, his eyes boring into Mickey, “Why?”

“We in therapy now?” Mickey asked earning him another big smile from Jake. He gave him a half  
grin back, “So what do you get here?”

“I like the Frittata,” Jake informed him, “Super fresh.”

“Fri-whatta?” Mickey asked lifting his eyebrows in confusion.

Another laugh, but it didn’t feel like Jake was laughing AT him, just amused, “It’s like an omelet  
that they didn’t flip over.”

“Lazy motherfuckers,” Mickey remarked, looking back down at the menu. Jake was laughing  
again. Mickey decided he fucking loved the guys laugh. It was so light, but manly and contagious.

He could get used to it and he found himself chuckling along.

“Bloody,” Their waiter said placing the drink in front of Jake, “And a Jack and OJ,” he practically  
spit out shoving the drink towards Mickey. The large Russian muscle head had clearly heard great  
things about him from the hostess. “What can I get for you guys?”

“We’ll have a frittata, the vanilla bean French toast, blueberry pancakes, two orders of bacon,”  
Jake said matter-a-factly adding a “please” at the end for good measure. The waiter nodded,  
grabbed their menus, and was on his way before Mickey could figure out what had just happened.

“Did you just order for me?” Mickey asked in disbelief.

Jake shrugged, “Figured we could just split everything. That a problem?”

Mickey shook his head slowly, biting the inside of his cheek, “Not a problem.” And it kinda  
wasn’t. He liked that Jake was aggressive. It was hot. HE was hot, like abnormally hot. “So a cop,  
huh?”

“Mmmhmm,” Jake confirmed nodding his head “For five years already.”

“So why’d you wanna be a cop?”

“Doesn’t every kid wanna be a cop when they’re growing up? Fire fighter, cop, ballerina?” Jake  
said taking a sip of his Bloody Mary.

“And you said my drink was nasty,” Mickey scoffed looking at the celery, pickled egg, bacon and  
olives sticking out of the top of the red sludge. Jake sputtered and shot Mickey the middle finger,  
“Never wanted to be a cop. Weren’t really respected much in my family.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Jake said with a nod.

“You looked into me?” Mickey asked crossing his arms over his chest and going back to gnawing  
his lip.

“Mmmhmm,” He confirmed no shame, “And your family. Had to see what I was working with.  
You didn’t Google me?”

“That shit’s not on Google,” Mickey retorted, eyeing Jake down, ignoring his question. He didn't  
google him because he forgot his fucking name and if he typed in 'hot cop' all that would come up  
was porn.

“Files,” Jake said with a shrug, eyeing him right back.

“Nosy motherfucker, huh?” Mickey shot. He should’ve been pissed about the invasion of privacy,  
but he couldn’t bring himself to be catching that mischievous glimmer in Jake’s eyes. “So you  
know what I was in for then.” Jake nodded and grabbed the bacon out of his drink, leaning back  
in chair. He assessed Mickey carefully which caused the ex-con to shift uncomfortably in his seat.  
This guy could be intimidating as shit. He only had a couple of inches on Mickey and a similar  
body type, but Mickey was pretty sure Jake could handle his own. "And you still wanted to hang  
out,” Mickey stated skeptically.

Jake smiled biting into the bacon. He was quiet for moment, still just looking at Mickey, “Guy like  
you... if you wanted her dead. She would’ve been dead.”

“Guy like me?” Mickey asked relaxing again. He grabbed his drink and gulped down about a  
quarter of it immediately, “Wanted the bitch dead, but didn’t wanna to kill her.”

Jake nodded like he understood the distinction, “You gonna give me the backstory?”

“Nope,” Mickey said plainly, taking another long swig.

“Not even a snippet?” Jake prodded playfully.

“You gotta earn that shit,” Mickey informed him, eyebrows lifted high.

“That a challenge?” Jake purred sexy as fuck.

“You want it to be?” Mickey breathed wetting his lips hotly.

The two men stared each other down until the tension was broken by the waiter placing the plates  
down on the table and giving a description of each one.

As they ate they talked about where they were from, Mickey’s new job and other casual first date  
conversation. Mickey was just happy that the guy didn’t try to feed him or some shit. Jake was  
pretty cool though, even if he was a cop that was into brunch. He had a good sense of humor and  
gave Mickey’s shit right back to him. When the waiter brought the bill, Jake grabbed it quickly  
which made Mickey feel like a bitch. He threw a few bucks towards Jake for his part, but the man  
refused to take it.

“I’m glad you came,” Jake said as they exited the restaurant, “I can tell brunch isn’t your scene.”  
Mickey nodded, rubbing his forehead nervously, “Yeah, not my scene, but it was good.”

Jake gave him a pleased smile, “So what is your scene?”

Mickey shrugged, “Shithole bars I guess.”

“Wanna take me to your favorite one tonight? Watch the Bears game?” Jake offered, “Worked a  
24 on Friday, so I’m off.”

“Tonight, huh?” Mickey smirked, “We could do that.” He guessed Jake was kinda into him,  
which was good because he was kinda into Jake.

“I know you start work tomorrow so I promise not to keep you out too late,” Jake flirted, voice  
low moving in closer to Mickey and grabbing the front of his black button down in his hand.

“What if I want you to,” Mickey breathed, momentarily glancing away from Jake’s piercing eyes  
to survey the street. There were a few people across the street but the coast was pretty clear.  
Jake dropped his lips down to Mickey’s connecting them and wasting no time as he pushed his  
way into Mickey’s mouth heatedly. They tangled tongues passionately, an hour and half of  
tension's crescendo. Mickey felt himself growing hard as Jake quietly moaned into his mouth.  
Using all of his self-restraint, he pulled back eyes blown out staring at the guy in front of him.

“Not into PDAs?” Jake asked breathlessly.

“If we didn’t stop I was gonna have to fuck you right here. Think that’s breaking some laws,  
right?” Mickey said licking his lips, eyes still focused on Jake’s lips. He was an amazing kisser.

“720,” Jake confirmed with a laugh, “Anyway I’m not that kinda guy. I wait until at least the  
second date to fuck.”

“That right?” Mickey laughed raising his eyebrows with a smirk “Seems like our second date is  
tonight.”

Jake gave him the fucking naughtiest smile he ever saw and asked, “Where am I meeting you?”

“The Alibi on Trumball.”

“South Side, motherfucker,” Jake laughed sticking his tongue out and throwing up his middle  
fingers at Mickey.

“Fucking right,” He growled pulling the man back towards him and kissing into that hot mouth  
again. They grabbed and groped at each other like two teenagers as they lapped into each other’s  
mouths.

“720,” Jake teased pulling back and giving Mickey a wave before heading down the block  
towards his car.

Mickey watched him as he walked away his eyes falling appreciatively on the cop’s ass. Damn.

Chapter Twelve: Tattoo

It was Sunday night and Ian was laying on the couch opposite Theo's recliner half watching CNN  
when he felt his phone vibrate on his stomach. He reached down and slid the text open. Lip.

-You know Mickey's out? Looking at that shithead right now in the flesh. Ignoring me.-  
-Yeah, saw him a few times- Ian laughed at the fact that Mickey was shunning Lip. Some things  
never change.  
-Oh, you SAW him?-  
-Fuck off. Where are you?- Ian smirked.  
-Stupid question.-  
-Still keeping Frank's stool warm?- He shook his head at the thought of all the opportunities his  
brother had pissed away.  
-Now you fuck off-  
-Coming by- Ian decided.  
-For me or Mickey?-  
-Both?-  
-Liar. I wouldn't-  
-Wouldn't what?-  
-Come here.-  
-Why?-  
-Not alone-  
-Iggy? We're okay.  
-No. Some dude.-

Ian's heart dropped into his stomach.

-See you soon- Ian typed before shooting up off the couch.

"Where's the fire?" Theo asked incredulous of his boyfriend's sudden movement.

"I gotta run out for a bit," Ian said leaning down to plant a sweet kiss on Theo's lips.

"Where to?" Theo questioned. Ian could tell he was aggravated. Ian had kept his distance from  
Theo all day, telling him that he was tired and feeling out of whack. That wasn't a lie, but the  
reason for his distance was the array of marks Mickey left on him the night before. His wrecked  
body would keep him sleeping in sweatsuits and avoiding sex for the next week or so. He figured  
the meeting with Theo's advisors was a solid excuse for him to withdrawal. Shit, he's pulled back  
on account of less before. He knew he was a piece of shit. He hadn't cheated on Theo before  
Mickey. He loved Theo, but Mickey was Mickey. His Mickey.

After seeing him again, fucking him, Ian couldn't deny that a huge part of him died while Mickey  
was away, and being with Mickey again had sparked it back to life. Years of history; love, hurt,  
laughter, hate had all flooded back to the present. There was no passion like his passion for that  
blue eyed bastard.

He had spent a lot of time wondering what would have happened if Mickey hadn't gotten locked  
up. Ian was in an awful place when he broke up with him. He didn't think it would be for good.  
He thought they'd fight for a while, then fuck and get back together. Ian knew eventually he  
would've ended up back on his meds, which he did. By the time he was stable and thinking  
clearly Mickey was already gone; ripped from him before Ian could really comprehend the  
consequences of what happened that day by his front gate.

"Lip needs some help with something." Ian lied.

"What does he need help with?" Theo asked scratching his chin and looking up at Ian curiously.  
Ian could see the doubt in his boyfriend's eyes.

"Oh, you know Lip..." Ian groused waving his hand dismissively.

"Not really though," Theo said with a frown. They had been together for years, but Ian only  
brought Theo around his family infrequently at best. Theo had practically pleaded with Ian to  
spend more time with them, get to know them better, but Ian always refused. Theo stood up and  
wrapped his arms loosely around Ian's waist "I know you're still upset, but you can't run away  
from it Ian. We have to face all of this together. I need you to understand I'm on your side. I'm  
with you. 100%"

"I really do have to help Lip. I'm not running. I promise," Ian assured him rubbing his palm  
against Theo's stubbly cheek, "Love the 5 o'clock shadow, babe. Looks so good."

"Yeah?" Theo raised his eyebrows as Ian kissed his neck. Ian smiled. Regardless of the fact that  
he knew he had the power to control it, he hated the idea of hurting Theo.

"Mmmhmm, makes me hard," Ian purred taking Theo's hand and slipping it under his sweatpants  
so his boyfriend could feel his hardening cock, "Really want to suck you off though."  
Theo's breath stuttered and he unbuckled his jeans so Ian could slide down his body and pull  
down his pants and boxer briefs in one swift movement, while dropping to his knees.

"Gotta be quick, Thee," Ian breathed taking his boyfriend deep into his mouth.

Theo groaned at the warmth and sensation of Ian's skilled mouth working his cock, "Not gonna be  
a problem."

Ian sucked him good, swallowing down his boyfriend's appreciation in record time. He grinned up  
at him wickedly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood up, "Taste so good."  
He gave his boyfriend a wet, tongue filled kiss, spanking his ass playfully as he pulled back, "I  
won't be too long, ok?"

Theo nodded, stupid and sated and sat back down in his chair watching his boyfriend head back  
to their bedroom to get dressed before focusing his attention back to the tv.

Ian haphazardly tossed clothes out of his drawer deciding to just throw on a pair of jeans with the  
plain grey hoodie he was already wearing. He glanced back down at his phone. Another text from  
Lip.

-Seriously man don't come.-

Ian sat on the end of the bed and pushed his hair back to keep it from falling in his face.

-Is the guy hot?-  
-Don't know. Not gay-  
-Answer me.- 

Ian could feel himself getting really fucking anxious. He could hear his heartbeat  
pounding in his ears and he watched as his hands began to shake. He stood up again, unsure if  
he'd feel better sitting or standing. He started pacing while he waited for Lip's answer. His  
emotions were intensifying by the minute.

His Mickey was out with another guy. It had to be 'brunch guy'. They probably ate brunch,  
fucked all day, and then went out to grab some beers. Ian pressed his knuckles against his eyes  
willing the tears that were threatening to tumble out to stay inside. It was easier with Mickey in  
jail. He knew that made him selfish as fuck, but it was. He didn't have to worry about any of this  
shit.

"Fuck it," He mumbled to himself opening the closet and reaching up to the top shelf to grab the  
shoe box he kept stashed up there. He pulled out a gram of fire, razor and paper. He brought it  
into the bathroom poured about half out on the granite and cut 4 long lines. He rolled the paper  
and inhaled all the lines in rapid succession. He tossed his head back with a sigh and looked back  
at his phone.

-You'd definitely fuck him-  
Fuck.  
*

"Well look who we have here! It's been years since Mr. D.C. has blessed us South Side peons  
with his presence! Give him a presidential welcome!" Kev announced loudly as Ian entered the  
Alibi. A bunch of the regulars started humming "The Star Spangled Banner" and stood up, hands  
on their hearts as Ian shook his head with a laugh and shoved his hands in his kangaroo pocket.  
He walked up to the bar to accept the shot of whiskey, Kev poured in his honor.

Mickey rubbed his eyebrows and bit at his lower lip, annoyed. He turned his head towards Lip,  
who was sitting at the bar, and caught his eyes. The weasel shrugged half apologetically and  
mumbled, "Told him not to fucking come."

The kid was always a fucking shit stirrer, why would anything have changed. Mickey rolled his  
eyes, shook his head and gave Lip the finger.

"Ex?" Jake asked eyebrows lifted as he looked Ian over.

"How'd you know?" Mickey grumbled taking a healthy chug from his beer. He and Jake had  
been having a great fucking time talking football, playing pool, and shooting the shit with Kev.  
Now, that red headed asshole was going to come fuck things up.

"Get paid to be perceptive," Jake informed looking back at Mickey with a grin.

"Yeah? Can you tell he's fucking crazy?" Mickey spat. He regretted the words as soon as they  
came out, but shit if he wasn't pissed at Ian.

"Ahh," Jake nodded knowingly, "the beautiful, crazy ex. I have a few of them." He grinned at  
Mickey trying to lighten the mood, but Mickey didn't feel like being light.

"Not like him," He muttered, aimlessly picking at the label on his beer bottle.

"Hey," Jake said reaching across the table to rest his hand gently on Mickey's to grab his attention,  
"We're good." He smiled reassuringly at Mickey and removed his hand, "It's cool."

Mickey nodded giving Jake a half smile back. Damn he was chill. Mickey realized there was no  
use being concerned about what the fuck Ian was up to. It wasn't gonna change shit, and it's not  
like he hadn't handled him before.

They we're just falling back into the conversation they had been having before Ian's entrance,  
when they were interrupted again.

"Hey Mick," Ian said green eyes locked on Mickey's blues. Mickey sighed when he recognized  
the wildly, blown out pupils engulfing his ex-boyfriend’s irises. He turned quickly to Jake and  
extended his hand. Jake politely stood up to shake it, "I'm Ian."

"Jake. Nice to meet you," Jake said trying to pull back his hand without it being too awkward, but  
Ian kept a hold of it.

"Ian," The redhead said again. He spoke slower and recited his full name, "Ian. Gallagher." He  
finally let go of Jake's hand and just looked at him like he was an idiot for not getting some secret  
code.

Jake sat back down and took a sip of his drink glancing up tentatively to see if Ian was still  
looking at him. Mickey just shook his head in disbelief wondering if Jake's crazy beautiful exes  
could top this.

"Hey Ian Gallagher, let's talk for a minute," Mickey said breaking the tension. He stood up and  
pulled Ian a few feet back from the table, "You're tweaking like a little bitch," Mickey whispered  
harshly.

"Wanna talk about bitches? You're on a date with a fucking twink!" Ian scoffed loud enough for  
Jake and the surrounding patrons to hear. Jake wriggled up his nose at being called a twink,  
thinking there was a first time for everything.

"Shut.the.fuck.up," Mickey growled quietly more concerned with the matter at hand than Ian's  
jealousy.

He reached his hand into Ian's front pocket, drawing a laugh from Ian, "Really? Your dude is  
literally right there."

Mickey sighed when he felt the small bag of coke and pulled Ian's head down so he could whisper  
in his ear, "Listen. He's a cop. You have enough for possession. Get the fuck out of here."

"You have to be FUCKING kidding me?" Ian roared with a shocked wide smile on his face. He  
laughed heartily, throwing his head back, while pulling back from Mickey. That laugh sent chills  
down Mickey's spine memories of Ian’s manic phases of the past flashing through his mind, "A  
fucking cop?" He walked the few steps back to the table and stood over Jake, "You really a cop?"

Jake nodded his head, pursing his lips tightly. Mickey noticed his finger tapping against the wood  
table rhythmically. He didn't know the guy all that well yet, but Mickey could tell that he was  
getting pissed. "Yup."

"Wow," Ian was shaking his head in disgust, "Do you have some sick kink? Dirty cop who likes  
to fuck convicts or something?"

"Ian," Mickey warned, feeling his fists clench tight. He glanced down at Ian's and realized they  
were ready to go as well, "Leave."

Ian scoffed and didn't budge, "No really..." he pressed, "do you? This isn't a fucking porn. This is  
real life."

Jake didn't know what the fuck the guy was talking about and didn't want to escalate the situation,  
so he summoned all of his self-control to hold his tongue.

"His life," Ian continued gesturing towards his ex-boyfriend. Mickey didn't know where he was  
going with this so he just stood there with a hand on Ian's elbow ready to drag his ass out if need  
be.

By the time Lip finally realized there was something going on he made his way over and stood  
back a couple of feet, watching the scene carefully.

"And my life," Ian stated his eyes full of fire and his voice shaking with anger, "It's me, don't you  
get it?"

"Ian, seriously," Mickey whispered low, trying to calm him down. He wasn't even pissed  
anymore. He was worried. He could tell that if Ian stayed in there for another moment things  
weren't going to end well, "let's go outside and grab a smoke."

"No," Ian growled at Mickey his eyes still fixed on Jake. "I want him to get it. I want him to get  
who I am. Ian. Gallagher."

Jake was looking at him like he fucking insane and his eyes got impossibly wider when Ian  
reached over and ripped the top buttons off of Mickey's light blue shirt, yanking his wife beater  
down to expose his fucking tattoo, "Ian. Gallagher," The redhead spat out before Mickey's shock  
wore off and he slammed Ian down against the table, head thudding hard against the wood.  
Mickey held him there hearing a Lip's chant "hey, hey, easy" behind him.

"Listen," Mickey said looking at Jake, body shaking with rage, "You're gonna look the other way  
while I kick this motherfucker's ass. Can't fucking arrest me for assault or some shit." He was  
working to catch his breath, while a squirming, complaining Ian tried to break free from his hold.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom for like 10 minutes," Jake said slowly. He stood up and patted  
Mickey on the back before disappearing towards the restrooms.

"We goin' outside or we doin' this here?" Mickey asked, grabbing Ian by the hair and pulling him  
up just enough to slam his head back down on the table.

"Outside," Kev called from the bar, "Take your little lover's quarrel outside. Don't want you two  
breaking all my chairs again."

"Outside it is," Mickey decided pulling his ex up roughly and pushing him toward the door. Ian  
shoved Mickey off of him hard, straightening his hoodie and following the shorter man outside.

Lip followed them into the alley, "He'll fucking leave, Mickey," He tried to bargain, "He's high  
off his ass. Let me take him home."

"Fuck off, Lip," Ian said as he threw the first punch, connecting hard with Mickey's jaw,

"Fucking hurt my head, asshole," He barked as Mickey momentarily rubbed his cheek, clicked his  
tongue, then came charging at him full speed. He knocked Ian to the ground hard and started  
wailing on him before Ian flipped him over and held him down by the neck. They rolled around  
fighting for dominance, while Lip lit up a cigarette. It certainly wasn't the first time they had gotten  
into it and for some reason he didn't think it would be the last. He headed out of the alley and back  
towards the entrance to the Alibi.

"You're a fucking dick," Mickey huffed springing to his feet and kicking Ian hard in the stomach,

"You know how fucking embarrassing that shit was."

Ian grabbed his belly and rolled to his side moaning, "'m sorry," he mumbled, "I want you. Don't  
want you to be with him."

Mickey sighed and pulled the asshole up off the ground. They were both breathing hard when  
Mickey pushed Ian against the brick wall, "Listen to me. You can't pull this shit. You gotta get  
outta here. You're high as a fucking kite, have coke on you and he's a fucking cop. I’m sure he’s  
fuckin dying to throw your crazy ass in jail."

Ian nodded his head like he understood then said softly, "I want you, Mick. Don't you want me?"  
Mickey shook his head slowly, hand still pushing back on the redhead's chest.

"Thought I made you free?" Ian choked, his eyes filling up with tears.

"You're not that guy anymore, Gallagher," and with that he let go of Ian allowing him to crumple  
himself into a little ball and headed back towards the entrance the Alibi, "Get your brother," he  
growled at Lip as he pulled open the door, "YOU fucking did this to him." He spit angrily on the  
other man and snarled before disappearing into the bar.

Chapter Thirteen: Hope

Mickey went straight to the bathroom to fix his clothes and clean the blood off his knuckles and  
lip before heading back out his date.

"So, just a regular night for Mickey Milkovich?" Jake questioned with a smile handing Mickey a  
fresh, cold beer.

Mickey laughed a little and lifted his eyebrows with a shrug, sliding back into the booth, "Sorry  
'bout that shit. Thanks for not arresting me for kicking his ass."

"I'm not a saint either," Jake informed him a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Oh yeah?" Mickey asked his interest peaked. "No way you got a record."

"Don't have a record," Jake confirmed, all smirk. "Was always smart enough not to get caught."

"Ah, smartypants here," Mickey teased, "What shit were you into?"

Before Jake could answer they were interrupted by Kev's jovial voice,"On the house," he said  
placing a shot of whiskey in front of each of them, "Good you stuck around," He said to Jake,  
"Those two idiots have been fucking and fighting like that since they were 15 years old." He  
shook his head and turned to Mickey. "Time to break the cycle, but you don't gotta break his  
nose."

"The fucker's nose is fine," Mickey stated rolling his eyes, "Deserved worse."

"Not gonna disagree with you there," Kev said patting Mickey on the back, "Hey- again, it was  
good to meet you, man." He shook Jake's hand, earning the same sentiment back and headed back  
behind the bar.

"Nice guy," Jake commented. Mickey nodded and they sat quietly for a moment. "So since you  
were 15, huh?"

"Yup," Mickey confirmed biting his lip nervously.

"First love?" He asked Mickey carefully, unsure if he was pushing too far.

Mickey shrugged and looked up into his date's clear green eyes, "Only love," Mickey paused  
feeling the odd need to defend the shithead and in a way, himself. "He's not always like that. Was  
high as shit."

"Really?" Jake gasped sarcastically. Mickey grinned a little, "I'm perceptive, remember? He rested  
his hand on Mickey's and gave it a little squeeze "You know by the tenth time he repeated his  
name I realized who he was."

Mickey barked out a laugh in spite of himself and gave him a smile, all teeth "Ian Gallagher?"  
Jake grinned like the cat who ate the canary and shook his head, "Nah, well, yeah Ian Gallagher,  
but also our Lt. Governor's golden boy. He's in the papers a lot."

"That's Ian Gallagher," Mickey confirmed tickling Jake's hand a little. He glanced around to see if  
anyone was looking at them. Old habits. He was brave and kept his hand there even though his  
instinct was to pull it away. He felt exposed, but he fought the feeling and intertwined his fingers  
with Jake's.

"You ok with Ian Gallagher being with him," He shook his head and rephrased, "I mean, have  
you moved past Ian Gallagher?"

"I moved past Ian Gallagher years ago," Mickey told him, his face growing serious, "What's your  
last name? Don't even know it."

"Bateman."

"With Jake Bateman tonight," Mickey told him, staring intensely in his eyes and licking his lips.

"That right?" Jake asked licking his own lips and rubbing his leg against Mickey's under the table.  
The energy between them was crackling; hot, sparks jumping from their bodies, "I don't know if  
you're too tired after kicking that ass to come over and chill..." Jake began.

"That was light work," Mickey interrupted eagerly, "I could chill." He didn't typically use words  
like 'chill' but Jake did and he was pretty sure it meant 'fuck' so he'd start using chill if it meant  
he'd be fucking the hot ass cop.

"Yeah?" Jake grinned quickly finishing off his beer, "let's get the fuck out of here."

Mickey followed suit and they were gone within minutes.

*

They couldn't keep their hands or lips off each other as they rode the elevator up to Jake's North  
Side apartment. "Want you so badly," Jake breathed between Mickey's feverish kisses.

"You're so fucking hot," Mickey returned rutting his hard on against Jake's, "Got me so hard."  
The elevator dinged to announce it had reached Jake's floor and the two tumbled out still groping  
and kissing each other desperately.

"Couldn't wait till you got inside, Jakey?" A female voice teased with a laugh.  
Mickey looked up startled but Jake kept working on his neck and mumbled an introduction from

Mickey's skin, "Mickey, Greta, Greta Mickey."

The pretty blonde smiled up at Mickey and extended her hand. Mickey shook her hand, while  
shrugging Jake off and him. She was a little younger than them and displaying the biggest shit  
eating grin Mickey had ever seen.

"Greta's the neighborhood watch," Jake joked coming up behind Mickey and wrapping his arms  
around the shorter man's waist tightly. He spoke to Greta over Mickey's shoulder, "How fucking  
hot is he, Gret?"

Mickey could feel a hot blush covering his cheeks as Jake leaned in to kiss one.

"You're both fucking hot. Have fun tonight," She said with a wink hoisting her laundry basket up  
higher in her hands and pressing the elevator button with her elbow, "I'll be doing my laundry."

"Have fun with that," Jake laughed dragging Mickey with him toward his apartment. They kissed  
their way in and Jake immediately cornered Mickey against the wall. "So..." he began pulling  
back breathlessly.

"I like to be fucked," Mickey stated as he kissed up Jake's neck to behind his ear and back down  
again.

"Yeah?" Jake asked pleasantly surprised. His eyes were blown out and lustful as Mickey pulled  
his lips off so he could look at him.

"That a problem?" He challenged eyebrows lifted, smirk on his full lips.

"Not at all," Jake practically moaned smashing his lips back against Mickey's hungrily, "I'm  
versatile," he said into his mouth.

"Mmm" Mickey hummed at the statement pulling back and grinning "that's fucking sexy as hell."

"Cool if we flip?" He asked grabbing Mickey's hand and leading him into the bedroom. He was  
pulling off his clothes and Mickey stood in awe of the man before him. His body was cut, legs  
strong, tattoos bright and dick flagging proudly.

"Shit," He breathed drinking him in as he quickly dropped his hands down to unbuckle his pants.  
Mickey felt his heart pounding and racing at Jake's proposition. He'd never done it before. Ian  
barely bottomed, alleys weren't conducive for the act and he did all the fucking in prison. "It's  
definitely cool."

Jake flicked his eyebrows up and bit his lip mischievously as he started to unbutton Mickey's shirt,  
"Been dying for this since I met you last week."

"Yeah?" Mickey breathed hotly as he shrugged off his shirt.

"Mmmhmm," Jake hummed beginning to lift off Mickey's wife beater. His hands were held to a  
stop with Mickey shaking his head no.

"Stays on," Mickey said straightening up.

"I wanna touch all of you," Jake stated plainly, eyes burning into Mickey's.  
Mickey shook his head, "Gotta get that shit removed."

"Cause of tonight?" Jake asked dropping to his knees and wrapping his hand around Mickey's  
hard cock. Mickey arched a little at the touch and groaned throwing his head back as Jake took  
him deep into his mouth.

"Fuck... feels good," Mickey sputtered as Jake worked him in and out of his mouth slowly. "Not  
because of tonight."

"You know when a word is used so often that it, like, loses meaning?" Jake asked as he pulled  
mostly off of Mickey's cock deciding to just lap at his dripping slit as he talked. "Shit, you taste  
good."

"Having a hard time following with my dick in your mouth, man," Mickey moaned as Jake's  
tongue swirled around his head and back down his shaft before coming back to lick at the slit  
again. He always picked talkers.

"He said his name so much that it lost meaning," Jake stated between licks, "You don't have to be  
ashamed of it."

"Not," Mickey lied letting out a gasp as Jake took him down his throat. Jake pulled him back out  
slowly and went back to focusing on just the head, "Just's weird."

"Not to me," Jake said honestly, eyes peering up at Mickey's who were hooded and looking down  
at him ravenously, "Not pressuring you." He gave a few last licks before standing back up,  
looking at Mickey directly and saying, "Just want you to know how I feel about it."

Mickey nodded and leaned forward to lick his way into Jake's mouth again. They fell back onto  
the bed and kissing hungrily as their hands explored each other's bodies with greed.  
Jake pulled back much to Mickey's dismay and reached for items in his bedside table. While there  
was space between them, Mickey decided to reach down and pull his beater off, throwing it  
quickly to the ground before he changed his mind.

"Fuck yeah," Jake beamed letting his eyes pass over Mickey's prison strong body. He licked a  
hard line up Mickey's chest, over his neck and up to his lips, "Thank you," he breathed into  
Mickey's mouth.

Mickey hummed running his fingers through Jake's black hair as he kissed him back. He heard the  
familiar click of the lube top and felt a wet finger breaching his hole slowly as they kissed. He  
watched as Jake rose to his hands and knees, lips still connected to his own while he worked to  
prep himself as he continued to prep Mickey. Mickey groaned into Jake's mouth at the sight  
thinking that it may have been one of the hottest fucking things he had ever seen.

Jake opened him expertly and Mickey forced himself not to cum several times throughout the  
process. The other man pulled his mouth off of Mickey's his lips looking swollen and pink. He  
slipped a black wrapper condom onto his dick and with a playful click of the tongue held up a butt  
plug, "You wanna do the honors or should I?"

"I got it," Mickey said taking the plug out of Jake's hand, his cheeks hurting from the size of the  
smile that was crossing over his face, "A little kinky, huh?" He teased opening the lube and  
wetting the plug generously.

Jake shrugged with a nasty little smirk and bent over so Mickey could gently push in the plug  
drawing a long low grown out of Jake.

"Hellish?" Mickey grinned running his fingers over the curvsive words tattooed on Jake's left ass  
cheek.

Jake laughed lightly and pushed Mickey back so he was laying on the bed. He draped one of  
Mickey's legs over his arm and used his free hand to line his cock up with Mickey's hole, "You'll  
see," He promised, causing Mickey's eyebrows to raise excitedly. Next thing he knew he was  
throwing his head back with a groan as Jake pushed into him with a swift motion, filling him up  
completely.

"Fuuuck," Mickey groaned his eyes rolling back in his head as Jake pounded hard into his ass.  
The man was snapping his hips at a toe curling rhythm and hitting Mickey's prostate pointedly  
with every other thrust. "Oh, shit you can fuck" He gasped as Jake grabbed his other leg and  
continued to pound.

Jake panted, "Not gonna last, man. Your ass is too fucking good." He dropped Mickey's legs and  
wiped the sweat from his forehead, slowing his pace.

Mickey couldn't believe that this incredibly hot guy was that worked up by HIM, losing his  
fucking mind from screwing him. "C'mere," Mickey rasped wrapping his arms around Jake's neck  
and pulling him down for a passionate kiss.

"Wanna ride you til you cum," Jake said pulling out of Mickey and reaching for a condom. He  
tossed it to Mickey and hastily pulled the plug out of his ass with a gasp.  
Mickey's hands were shaking with anticipation as he tore open the condom. Jake WAS hellish and  
he was loving every minute. His aggressiveness was a huge turn on. Mickey slid the condom  
down over his cock and Jake wasted no time lowering himself down onto Mickey slowly, making  
sure to savor every inch. They both let out a moan when he was fully seated. "Get it," Mickey  
groaned smacking Jake's hellish cheek to spark him into action.

"You fill me up so fucking good," Jake mewed dropping his head and bracing his hands on  
Mickey's chest as he began to roll his hips and ride Mickey into the mattress.

"Fuck," Mickey gasped as the man above him gyrated around on his cock.

"Needed to have your cock in me when I cum," Jake growled his voice shooting right into  
Mickey's groin.

"Fucking ride it harder," Mickey panted grabbing Jake's hips and slamming up into him, "almost  
there."

Jake dropped his hand to his aching cock and pumped it a few times before he was shuttering and  
convulsing on Mickey, groaning as he came all over the man's chest tattoo.

Mickey came hard in the condom as Jake's hole contracted around him and then immediately  
started laughing loudly, "You fucking aimed for it," He accused pulling Jake forward for a kiss.

"Did not," he retorted with a guilty little grin, locking his lips back on Mickey's.

"Hellish," Mickey muttered into Jake's mouth as they erotically deepened the kiss.

Chapter Fourteen: Stuck

"Can't believe you drove over here that fucked up," Lip barked starting the ignition of Ian's car  
and backing out of the parking space carefully.  
Ian just sat crouched in the passenger seat his face buried in his hands.

"Seriously. There's something really fucking wrong with you, man. Are you even taking your  
meds?"

"Yes!" Ian snapped lifting his bloodied, tear stained face and glaring angrily at Lip's profile, "I'm  
fucking taking them."

"Maybe they don't mix well with all the COKE you're snorting," Lip spat, really emphasizing his  
distaste.

"Don't do it often," Ian lied.

"Bullshit. I've seen you 3 times in the last year and you've been high every time." Lip shook his  
head in disappointment.

"Fucking rich coming from an alcoholic like you," Ian growled.

"Fuck You," Lip said turning his head to give Ian the death glare before refocusing his attention  
back to the road, "guess nobody should give a shit about you, right? Not like you give a shit about  
your white trash family, what with the fancy car, big house, rich boyfriend, all the coke you can  
shove up your beak. Don't gotta give a shit about anyone but yourself."

"Fuck you," Ian returned leaning his head back against the headrest.

"Never figured you'd be the one to leave us all behind without looking back," Lip admonished,  
"could've just fucked off with Clayton years ago."

"Can you not give me shit right now?" Ian groaned rubbing his forehead exhausted, "Honestly,  
did you miss what just fucking happened back there?"

"Oh no, nobody missed that. Did a good job fucking embarrassing yourself." Lip snipped, "but I  
know what'll get you to the South Side. Just gotta tell you Mickey's there and you'll run like a little  
bitch."

"Really, shut the fuck up," Ian moaned rubbing his forehead, "have a headache."

"Listen. I'm just worried about you," Lip said softer, "We all are. Don't even know you anymore."

"When'd you get so dramatic?" Ian asked looking at Lip his green eyes eyes softening.  
Lip glanced over and smirked," When'd you become such an asshole?"

"Maybe we did some Freaky Friday body snatcher switch," Ian suggested with a sigh.  
Lip let out a light laugh, "Maybe. Hey- tell me where to go from here. Don't remember."

"It’s only 9:30,” Ian said as Lip pulled the car into Ian’s driveway, “Theo’s still up. Want me to  
ask him to drive you back, so you don’t have to take the El?”

“Yeah, sure, okay. That’d be good,” Lip said as he turned off the car and handed Ian the keys. He  
followed his brother into the house and saw his boyfriend immediately jump off the chair as they  
entered the living room.

“Ian, what the hell?” Theo gasped at the sight of Ian. He rubbed his hand on his cheek, “What  
happened?” He asked half to Ian and half to Lip.

“Got in a fight,” Ian said quietly. Clearly.

“What? Why?” Theo was confused. He looked over at Lip, “What’s going on?”

“He came to the bar fucked up,” Lip stated earning him a glare from Ian, “Got in a fight with an  
old friend.”

Theo looked like he got punched in the gut, “Same old friend as last night?” He asked carefully,  
tears starting to well in his eyes. He blinked them back and awaited Ian’s answer. Lip stood back  
wide eyed, pretty sure he had fucked up and sold his brother out.

“Yeah,” Ian replied softly, knowing what his admittance implied.

Theo nodded in disbelief and just stared. Ian wished that he would scream at him, punch him,  
curse, anything, but instead he just kept looking at him blue eyes bewildered.

“Hey, uh, listen, Ian said you may be able to give me a ride back home, but I don’t wanna put you  
out or anything, so I’ll, just… you know” Lip began turning to leave.

“No, I’ll take you,” Theo said snapping out of his haze. He turned to Ian, “and we’ll talk when I  
get home.”

Ian nodded his head in agreement feeling like the absolute biggest piece of shit ever. In one night  
he had managed to fuck up every important part of his life. He dragged his burden heavy, achy  
body to the shower, hoping to wash away the memories of the last 2 hours.

“Who’s the old friend?” Theo asked as soon as he and Lip got into the car.

“You know you gotta ask Ian that,” Lip said staring out the window, not wanting to meet Theo’s  
eyes.

“Ex- boyfriend,” Theo breathed more a statement than a question, met with a heavy silence from  
Lip, “I’m proposing to him this weekend, you know.” He said his voice wavering as he focused  
on the road ahead of him,”I have it all planned out. Surprising him at the Rising Chicagoan’s  
Gala,” he sighed, “I’m being honored.”

“Uh, congratulations, on the, you know, honor,” Lip said uncomfortably, eyes still glued out the  
passenger window, “You sure you wanna do that?”

“Propose?” Theo asked, “I was. I mean, still am I guess.”

“He’s not himself,” Lip stated, “Says he’s taking his meds, but he’s doing too much coke. He’s  
not stable. He needs to go to the doctor.”

“He rarely does coke,” Theo disagreed, “think maybe he needs his meds adjusted. I’ll cancel my  
meetings tomorrow and we’ll go to Dr. Torres.”

“Theo,” Lip said turning his head to look at the man. Theo glanced back at him nervously, not  
sure what he was going to say, “He’s got a problem, ok? He’s doing more than he’s telling you.”

“You’re never around him, Lip,” Theo said gently, no harm meant by the statement.

“You can be in any sorta denial you want, man. I know my brother. Even if I don’t see him a lot. I  
know him, ok.” Lip defended, “I’m worried that you didn’t notice that things were fucked up with  
him.”

“I take good care of him,” Theo snapped feeling the emotion rising up in his throat. He took a  
deep breath and swallowed hard, “Sorry. There’s just been a lot going on. Really stressful stuff for  
him. We had a meeting with my advisers yesterday and it didn’t go well. I should have been more  
aware.”

“Not trying to get you to beat yourself up,” Lip said sincerely, “You’ve been with him for a few  
years, you know he gets like this. It’s not your fault. You just have to look out for it.”

“I know,” Theo said steeling himself, “We’ll go to the doctor tomorrow and see what she says.”

“Good,” Lip nodded.

“Don’t even know where I’m going…” Theo lightly laughed.

“South Side,” Lip said with a smirk before guiding Theo to his apartment building.

About a half hour later, Theo arrived home, grabbing a glass of water before he headed into the  
bedroom. Ian was laying curled up in the bed in a heavy sweatsuit, eyes closed, breathing  
rhythmically. Theo sighed quietly taking off his clothes and climbed into bed wrapping his arms  
protectively around his boyfriend’s body planting a gentle kiss on his shoulder of his sweatshirt.

“I love you,” Ian mumbled sleepily, “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Theo soothed, petting his red hair, “This is my fault. I’ve been too busy and you’ve been  
under too much stress.”

Ian turned over to face Theo. He knew that the easy way out would be to agree, push the blame  
off of himself, let Theo take it.

“Ex boyfriend?” Theo asked quietly, his blue eyes pained.

Ian nodded.

“The one that was in jail?” Theo guessed. Ian only talked about him briefly, but Theo could tell  
from his demeanor that there was more to the story. He never pushed. He wished he had.

Ian nodded again a broken, “yeah” escaping his lips.

“Did you sleep with him? Kiss him?” Theo croaked, terrified of the answer.

Ian stared at his boyfriend unsure of what path to take. Should he tell him the truth and risk losing  
him knowing he already lost Mickey? Should he lie to this decent man and make him believe that  
Ian’s heart wasn’t split in two? “No I didn’t.”

Theo swallowed and nodded, “Should’ve told me you were going to see him. I trust you. You  
should’ve trusted me that I would be ok with it.”

“I know,” Ian breathed, “I should have never lied.” He half expected lightening to strike him right  
there in the bed, but it didn’t. “There was just some closure and stuff I needed.”

“So you beat the shit out of each other?” Theo asked confused, “That’s closure?”

“Pretty much,” Ian said plainly.

“So South Side,” Theo said giving Ian a little grin.

Ian returned it and sighed, “Too South Side sometimes.”

“I love every part of you, South Side parts included,” Theo informed him kissing his lips gently,  
“No more lying, ok?”

Ian nodded, “No more lying.”

“I’m going to cancel my day tomorrow and we’ll go see Dr. Torres,” Theo informed him stroking  
Ian’s cheek gently, “I’m gonna take care of you, ok?”

“Ok,” Ian said tucking himself into Theo’s chest and drifting back to sleep.

Chapter Fifteen: Cross

It was Thursday before Ian started to feel halfway decent. Dr. Torres had adjusted his medication  
and he had a slew of new side effects to contend with. The grogginess was to be expected, but the  
strange numbness of his bottom lip and the feeling that his head was moving at a slower rate than  
the rest of his body were strange to say the least. Luckily, things were starting to even out.

"How's your lip?" Theo asked sitting down on the couch next to Ian. He reached over tentatively  
and thumbed at his boyfriend's lip, "any better?"

Ian gave him a small grin, "Can't tell with your exam?"

Theo's face lit up as if Ian's smile was made of sunshine, "I love seeing that smile."  
Ian licked his lips suggestively and climbed over to straddle Theo's lap. "Maybe check with your  
lips?"

"Yeah?" Theo smiled. His boyfriend hadn't necessarily been the warmest or most receptive to  
touch over the last several days. He leaned up to press his lips against Ian's softly, "Mmm feel  
pretty good to me."

"Me too," Ian hummed deepening the kiss. He slid his tongue into Theo's mouth eagerly pulling it  
out only to nip and bite at his lower lip in a way Ian knew drove the older man crazy.

"Are you...?" Theo began dropping his hand down to feel the front of Ian's sweatpants.

Ian pulled his lips off his boyfriend's abruptly and slid off his lap just as fast.

"Hey, hey," Theo said grabbing Ian's wrists before he could leave the couch, "It's ok, I just  
thought I felt it. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me," Ian snapped angrily, the frustration and embarrassment clear on his face.

"It's just the meds, babe. They'll even out," Theo assured him dropping Ian's wrists so that he  
could wrap his arms around the redhead's waist.

Ian sighed and rested his head on Theo's strong shoulder, "sorry, I shouldn't have gotten that  
upset."

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. I should've known better," Theo replied softly, "Not our  
first rodeo, right? I was being selfish."

"Don't you ever just want to tell me to fuck off, or call me a prick or something?" Ian asked  
honestly, his green eyes looking up into Theo's full of tentativeness, "I mean, when I act like a  
dick, don't you want to tell me off. Ever?"

Theo crinkled his nose up skeptically, "Not really," he replied, "typically just want to try to work  
through it with you."

"Why are you so perfect?" Ian asked sounding half annoyed.

Theo smirked, "Lucky, I guess."

"I'm lucky," Ian said partially to Theo, but mostly as a reminder to himself. He let out a huge  
yawn and felt the need to stretch his arms and back, which had suddenly become heavy and sore.

"Why don't you go back to sleep, baby? You look exhausted," Theo suggested rubbing Ian's  
lower back soothingly, "I have to get going to work anyway."

"Mmm k," Ian crouching his body over and resting his lead filled head on the arm of the couch,  
"just hit me like a freight train."

"I know, go to bed though, you'll kink up your neck staying out here. We have to get you well  
rested for the Gala on Saturday."

"I'll be good. So excited for you," Ian said standing up slowly. Theo jumped to his feet to help  
steady his boyfriend and walk him into the bedroom.

"Take if easy today, ok?" Theo warned gently. "I'm serious."

"I know. I will," Ian promised snuggling himself under the covers, "remember to get our tuxes  
from the dry cleaners ok, babe?"

"Leah picked them up yesterday. Don't worry about anything," Theo assured him straightening  
the comforter a bit and then planting a tender kiss on his forehead, "I'll be home early, ok? And I'll  
bring in Lou Malnati's."

Ian smiled big, "Mmm pepperoni please."

"Ever a doubt?" Theo teased pressing one last kiss on his boyfriend's lips, "Love you Ian."

"I love you, too," Ian said watching as his boyfriend exited the room. He reached over to the side  
table and picked up his phone. No missed calls. He was used to the blank screen by now. He had  
left Mickey two messages a day apologizing for being a fucking psycho and had not gotten any  
response. He was pretty sure he had pushed Mickey to the point of no return, but fuck if he  
wouldn't at least keep trying. He threw his phone back down, deciding to hold off and call later  
that afternoon and maybe later that night too.

His eyes drifted to the closet. He tried to close them and will his mind not to settle on that shoebox  
but he couldn't gain the control. Dr. Torres had told him absolutely no recreational drugs,  
especially not cocaine. It confused his already haywire brain chemicals. Ian bit at his no longer  
numb lower lip thoughtfully. He could just snort a little, enough to give him the energy to go the  
gym and get a few reps in.

No. He turned on his side so he was facing away from the temptation of the closet and closed his  
weighted eyelids. He'd take a little rest and then decide if he would tap into his energy source.  
He laid there for another moment his mind resisting the surrender to sleep. He licked the inside of  
his bottom lip, back and forth and back and forth before he turned back over quickly to stare at the  
closet. He'd do the bare minimum he decided, just a little pick me up. Not enough to go to the  
gym, just enough to stop thinking about it.

He picked up his phone again to look at the blank screen for a minute before climbing out of bed  
and making his way over to the closet.

*

"Is it weird to say I missed you?" Jake asked casually as Mickey entered his apartment. He  
grabbed the shorter man around the waist and planted a soft kiss on his full lips.

"It's been three days since I saw you last," Mickey laughed wrapping his free arm around Jake's  
neck, "You're a pussy."

"It's been four," Jake corrected with a smirk, "today counts," He leaned in for another kiss. "Been  
craving you."

"Thought you had a taste for Chinese," Mickey teased holding up the take out bag in his left hand,

"Moo Moo Gai-whatever-the fuck."

Jake laughed and dropped his hands grabbing the bag from Mickey, "Moo GOO Gai Pan."

"Goo doesn't make it sound any better, man," Mickey scoffed pulling a disgusted face as he  
watched Jake put the food on plates.

"Thanks for bringing it over," He said carrying his and Mickey's plates to the kitchen table, "Take  
your coat off, stay a while."

"When would I of been able to get it off with a fuckin Octopus all over me as soon as I walked  
in," Mickey joked shrugging off his coat and joining Jake at the table.

Jake laughed and made some weird Octupus type movement with his arms before forking some  
food into his mouth, "wanna try some?" he asked holding up his fork to Mickey's mouth.

"Nah, keep your goo to yourself," Mickey stated taking a bite of his Sweet and Sour Chicken.

"I'll remind you that you said that later," Jake flirted taking another bite.

"Think you're getting laid, huh?" Mickey retorted eyebrows raised a playful pull on his lips.

"Been four days," Jake reminded him matter-of-factly.

"You're a needy fucker aren't you?" Mickey laughed checking him out. Fuck, he was good  
looking. He was wearing a white tshirt and grey sweatpants and he looked so fucking hot that  
Mickey was pretty sure his temperature raised at least five degrees just being in the same space as  
him.

"Mmmhmm," Jake confirmed shrugging his shoulders. "That a problem?"

"Don't think so," Mickey said not entirely sure. He didn't think he was into needy, but being  
behind bars and forgotten for 8 years made the idea of someone wanting to shower him with  
attention pretty fucking appealing and if they looked like Jake, yeah he was into needy. "Needy's  
ok I guess," he decided.

"Good," Jake said with a nod, "I have no shame in my neediness. It's my thing. What's yours?"

"What's my what?" Mickey asked confused.

"Your thing," Jake repeated green eyes staring into Mickey's deep blues. "Fucked up thing that  
annoys people in relationships." Jake clarified.

Mickey wasn't sure if he was coughing from chewing his food incompletely or from the mention  
of the word relationship but he reached for the water Jake had placed on the table and began to  
chug.

"Give me a fucking break," Jake smirked reading Mickey like a book, "What is it? Your thing?"

"You're pushy," Mickey stated when he stopped coughing.

"We've already covered me," Jake reminded him, "Your turn."

"I guess I got a hard time putting my thoughts into words sometimes," Mickey offered looking at  
Jake carefully to see if his answer was acceptable.

Jake nodded and then smiled, "Good. We're getting somewhere. Tell me more about work," he  
prompted letting Mickey off the hook.

Mickey filled Jake in about his first few days at the catering company, not sure how relaying  
stories about dishwashing could be interesting to the guy, but he into any detail Mickey was  
willing to give.

"Arrest anyone today?" Mickey asked after they cleared their plates and took a seat on the couch.

"A few people actually," Jake said sitting impossibly close to Mickey intertwining tattooed fingers  
with tattooed fingers.

"What'd they do?" Mickey asked feeling kinda bad for the guys that got popped. He knew the fear  
that they would try to posture to hide.

"Drugs, mostly. One stabbing. Pretty typical day," He said lifting his free hand to Mickey's cheek,  
"Fuck you're beautiful."

Mickey quickly turned his cheek, overwhelmed by Jake's words in collaboration with the intense  
gaze at Mickey's face, "Fuck off," He scoffed thumbing his nose uncomfortably with his free  
hand.

"I'm serious," Jake breathed turning Mickey's face back towards him, "beautiful."

They stared at each other for a moment a mixture of lust and amazement between them, before  
Mickey cleared his throat, "Don't seem like you'd be a cop, man. How'd you, you know, get into  
it or whatever?"

"Why don't I seem like a cop?" Jake asked leaning into the couch to get comfortable, hand still  
firmly holding Mickey's.

"Don't know. You're cool. Kinda badass," Mickey said noticing that Jake's face lit up and lips  
smirked at statement. Mickey laughed, "said KINDA."

"I'll take it. Kinda badass. I like it," Jake conceded, "Nah, man, wasn't always on the straight and  
narrow," Jake began, "fucked around with dealing in high school. South Side shit."

Mickey nodded his understanding remembering Jake telling him during brunch about growing up  
in Englewood.

"My old man's a fucking prick. Dealer, you know drugs, guns, hits. Anything you can deal," Jake  
continued.

"Name ain't Terry, right?" Mickey asked acknowledging that he and Jake had the same dark hair,  
light eyes and pale skin. That'd be his fucking luck.

Jake narrowed his eyes skeptically and shook his head, "Fucker's Ralph. We're not related,  
dumbass. Lots of deadbeat dads on the South Side."

Mickey shrugged and internally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Anyway, decided the best 'fuck you' to my dad was to become the thing he hated the most," Jake  
admitted. He paused, a sadness Mickey hated to see clouding over his gorgeous face, "second  
most hated I guess. I already had the first covered." Mickey nodded his understanding, "My mom  
was so fucking happy. Went to college for criminal justice, then to the academy," A grin played  
on his lips, "second day on the beat, I knew Ralph was doing a run, always did on Thursdays.  
Partner Tony and I followed the asshole. Popped him with 10 kilos in the trunk. With his priors,  
he got 20."

"You put your dad away?" Mickey exclaimed in shock.

"Nah, Tony did. If I arrested him it could've been looked at as a conflict. Wanted that shit to  
stick."

"Broke the South Side rules," Mickey said with a click of his tongue. Regardless of how much he  
had hated Terry, he would've never sold him out.

"Stopped giving a shit about that when I was 17 and that fucker wailed on me so hard he broke  
my arm, collar bone and 4 ribs," Jake informed him, "not one fucking regret."

Mickey nodded, thinking that Jake had a freedom that he would never have. He envied him in a  
way. He would've never narc-ed, but shit if he hadn't wanted to sometimes.

"That a turn off?" Jake asked. His voice wasn't soft or worried. He lifted his eyebrows to meet the  
challenge in his tone.

"Don't think it's possible to be turned off by you," Mickey admitted wrapping his free arm around  
Jake's waist tightly, "C'mere octopus," he grunted softly pulling Jake onto his lap.

Jake grinned his naughty grin and leaned in to kiss Mickey's waiting lips. "Was gonna make a  
joke about tentacles but thought it may fuck up the mood." He breathed into Mickey's mouth.  
Mickey laughed against Jake's lips, "Yeah good call," he mused before deepening the kiss.

Chapter Sixteen: Stop

"Good, you got my message," Luca stated surveying Mickey's black pants and black collared shirt  
and nodding his approval, "Gabe called out, so you're bussing tonight." He shoved a black tray  
into Mickey's hand, "Only take what was left behind or what someone gives you, don't stack  
things too high on the tray or you'll fuck up the balance and drop em, and you're invisible. You  
don't exist. Got it?"

Mickey nodded, "Yeah, ok."

"Get out there," Luca ordered gruffly, "we're already passing apps, plates are stacking up."  
Mickey nodded again and pushed open the double doors to ballroom. It was a hulking room  
flanked with a subtle ivory demask wallpaper, dimly lit crystal sconces, and what looked to be  
thousands of candles. The ceilings were impossibly high, plated in gold leaf, and adorned with 8  
oversized crystal chandeliers glowing low, adding to the romantic ambiance. A grand staircase  
stood majestically at the head of the room. impressive on its own but enhanced by the ornate gold  
banisters that rose up from the ivory marble. All the guests were sipping fancy drinks like martinis  
and decked out in black tie regalia.

Mickey had to blink a few times to get his bearings. It was so surreal that he wondered if he was  
actually dreaming. He found himself completely overwhelmed with the wasteful decadence, in  
disbelief that people actually lived like this, that this was a typical Saturday night out for them.  
He shook his head to clear his mind and walked over to an empty table that had dirty plates and  
napkins laying on it haphazardly. He carefully stacked the plates three high on his tray, tentatively  
picking it up to see if his balance was alright. Not bad. He gathered up the napkins and made his  
first of many trips weaving around the crowd, back through the double doors and to the industrial  
sized dishwasher bins in the back of the kitchen.

"You catching on?" asked as Mickey headed back towards the doors.

Mickey huffed, "It ain't rocket science, man."

Luca shook his head with a smirk as he watched Mickey get back to work.  
*

Ian was relieved when he caught sight of Grant and Gemma standing a few feet away from where  
he and Theo were talking to the impossibly dull mayor. He shot them a pained look, desperate for  
rescue. They both shook their heads and looked away knowing it was above their rank to interrupt  
Theo and Mayor Green.

Ian pushed his hands into the pockets of his tux pants and shifted from one foot to the other. He  
was starting to get really fucking anxious, like if he had to hear them drone on any longer about  
tax cuts and budget adjustments, he would literally combust.

"Babe," he interrupted, his voice small and apologetic, "I'm thirsty going to go grab a drink. Can I  
get you something?" He looked to the Mayor, "anything for you Dale?"

"I'm good, Ian, thanks," The mayor said holding up his glass of bourbon.

"I'm alright, love, thanks," Theo said leaning over to discretely whisper into his boyfriend's ear,

"No booze, ok?" He planted a soft kiss on Ian's cheek as gave him a nod of agreement.

Ian practically ran over to Grant and Gemma, grabbing their arms and saying, "C'mon" as he  
tugged them out of Theo and Mayor's line of sight.

"Riveting conversation?" Gemma asked with a laugh.

Ian groaned, "Fucking killing me."

"The cost of being arm candy," Grant teased, provoking a playful punch in the arm from Ian.

"Dude, I have to say, you know I'm not gay but you're so hot I probably could be. If I were Theo  
I'd want to parade you around, too."

"Alright, alright," Ian smirked, his cheeks tinting pink, "you're wasted."

"Almost," Grant confirmed, "the night's still young."

"You're blushing, Ian," Gemma chirped, giggling, "So sexy in that tux that you're turning straight  
men gay."

"Not gay," Grant corrected her draining his glass, "but can't deny he's majestic."

"Majestic," Ian sputtered, rolling his eyes, "get the fuck outta here."

"Speaking of getting out of here, have anything?" Grant asked dropping his voice low.

"Mmmhmm," Ian confirmed, "didn't think I could make it through all this boring ass chit chat  
without it, did you?"

"You guys are gross," Gemma scoffed, "people are going to be able to tell, like our coworkers  
and bosses," she warned Grant, "the majestic golden boy doesn't have to answer to anyone. We  
do."

"We're only gonna take the edge off," Grant replied.

"Whatever," Gemma shrugged, "Not my problem."

"Ian, can we get a photo of you and your friends?" A man with a press badge and camera  
interrupted, "real quick."

"Sure," Ian agreed wrapping his arms around Gemma and Grant's waists before smiling for the  
camera.

"And one alone," The photographer asked. Grant and Gemma fell back a bit leaving Ian in front  
of the camera alone. The man clicked several photos quickly.

"You get what you need?" Ian asked trying to temper his impatience. He and Grant had an  
important meeting to attend in the bathroom.

"Yes, I did. I know this is a little unprofessional," the photographer said moving closer to Ian and  
dropping his voice low, "but my wife is a modeling agent and she made me promise that if I ran  
into you I'd give you her card." He slipped the card into Ian's hand, "she's top tier and she'd love represent  
you."

"Uh, ok. Thanks," Ian said uncomfortably slipping the card into his interior jacket pocket. He  
reached his hand out to shake the guy's hand before signaling for Grant to follow him the the  
bathroom.

*

"Of fucking course," Mickey grumbled to himself, his eyes falling on Ian looking mind-blowingly gorgeous   
smiling for a camera across the room. He bit the inside of his cheek trying to figure out how best to avoid the idiot.   
The last thing he needed was for Ian to make some sort of scene and get him fired. It wasn't easy to find a job as an ex-con   
and he didn't mind the work. He decided he'd keep track of Ian's whereabouts before he'd approach tables so he didn't risk  
getting too close. Luckily, the tall red haired fucker stuck out from the crowd.  
Mickey watched as Ian headed towards the bathroom with the guy that sat across the table from  
him at Lit. He shook his head knowing exactly why Ian would be going to the bathroom with a  
friend. Fucking junkie.

A sudden wave of sadness crashed over Mickey. Sure, he was pissed at the guy, but he couldn't  
deny that it was really fucking hard to see Ian so lost. He found himself wondering if Ian's  
boyfriend was dense or blind to what was going on and decided it could be both or maybe neither.

How much could someone really do when it came to that stubborn prick anyway?

Mickey shook his head hoping it would knock away the thoughts and started collecting  
abandoned plates.

An hour passed and Mickey's feet were fucking killing him from the back and forth. The black  
shoes he was wearing were a size too small on him. He had grabbed them from Iggy's closet after  
getting Luca's call. His regular boots weren't gonna cut it for being out on the floor.  
He picked up his tray which was stacked cautiously and was headed back towards the kitchen  
when he heard something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Ian could you come up here, please," began the silver haired man that had been droning on about  
some bullshit at the podium set in front of the staircase. After hearing Ian's name, Mickey realized  
it was the guy from the pictures in the paper, Ian's boyfriend. He watched as an obviously  
confused Ian walked across the dance floor to meet Theo.

The older man took Ian's hands in his and Mickey's breath caught in his throat. No fucking way.  
Ian was an attention whore but not this kind of attention. Mickey knew that the redhead was  
mortified. Didn't his boyfriend know he would be embarrassed by this? "Ian, we've been together  
for three incredible years," Theo continued. Mickey scoffed at the count. Three years was fucking  
nothing. He listened as Theo's corny ass speech rambled on, reading the shock all over Ian's face.

He was blindsided.

He watched as the man dropped to his knee much to the delight of all the gala guests. There were  
hoots, hollers, gasps and claps as Ian shook his head yes. Theo immediately jumped up to wrap  
Ian in his arms and hug him close. Mickey felt a tightness in his chest when he realized that Ian's  
shock had morphed into joy. His face was illuminated by a large smile, the kind that he didn't flash  
as often as his smaller grins. He was looking down at the band on his finger, laughing lightly and  
fuck, was he beautiful.

A catalogue of Ian's smiles beginning at age 15 started running through Mickey's brain punctuated  
by memories of the laughter, kissing and crying that preceeded or followed them. He recalled  
every fucking one, knowing that for years those smiles saved him; making life worth living, and  
love worth fighting for. They had changed him, giving him strength, while exposing his  
weaknesses.

Mickey heard a quiet "fuck," escape his lips and like his mouth, his eyes betrayed him, beginning  
to prickle and sting. It was too fucking much. No matter how messed up things were between  
them, seeing Ian promise to spend his life with another man caused Mickey's arms to begin to  
shake. Before he knew it the tray of plates he was holding went crashing down to the floor. Every  
eye in the ballroom turned in his direction but he quickly dropped to the ground before he could  
be seen. He began to pick up the broken shards of china with his bare hands, not noticing the  
blood that was gushing from his palms. He was completely numb as another busser hurried over  
to help him.

"You're bleeding," The guy gasped, "like, a lot. stop touching them. I'll grab a broom." And he  
was off.

Mickey half remembered Luca telling him to go back into the kitchen, chiding him for fucking up  
an important moment for the couple. He didn't know how he got back into the kitchen. All he  
could recall was Ian's smile and blood.

Chapter Seventeen: Night

After he came down from his fucked up trip down memory lane and recalibrated his psyche,  
Mickey took his phone into his gauze wrapped hands and began to type...  
-Know it's late, still wanna chill?- He was the guy who said chill now. Chill meant fuck and a  
good fuck was exactly what he needed.

When he instantaneously received a reply in the form of an emoji of an octopus, he smiled and  
shoved his phone back in his pocket.

"Hey, listen," Luca began interrupting the naughty thoughts that were swirling around Mickey's  
brain, "I know I gave you shit, but you did a good job. We've all had a crash, not typically in the  
middle of a proposal," Luca cringed slightly at the memory, "but it happens."

"Thanks, Luca. Sorry again," Mickey said earnestly extending his hand for Luca to shake. His  
boss looked down at Mickey's bandaged palms and opted to give a strange partial shake to the tips  
of his fingers, "Just cause I'm gay, don't mean I got AIDS, man." Mickey lifted his eyebrows and  
gave the guy a half smile.

Luca smiled back with forced politeness and they stood there for another awkward moment before  
Luca told him to "Have a nice night."

As Mickey exited the hotel to walk the few blocks to Jake's apartment building he ruminated on  
the events that had taken place that night. He felt like he was in 'A Christmas Carol' being taken  
around by a ghost of his past, forced to peer through a window at something that was so close, but  
now so foreign to him.

He pulled a cigarette from the almost empty carton in his backpack and rolled it in his hands,  
taking a moment to study the gauze that was covering them. Bruised but not broken; cuts that  
would heal if he cared for them. He'd been made to tend to lacerations that sliced deeper than this  
before, he could do it again. These wounds were fresh, that's why they hurt so badly. Eventually  
they'd turn to scars like all the slashes before.

He dangled the cigarette from his lips and lit it up, inhaling deeply, a mix of nicotine and bitter,  
cold Chicago air filling his lungs. He needed a drink.

It was as if Jake was a mind reader, because as soon as he opened the door to let Mickey into his  
apartment he handed the tired man a beer, "Figured you'd need it. Was a long shift," he stated  
kissing Mickey's lips softly in greeting, "What happened to your hands?"

"This is some housewife shit right here," Mickey remarked with a laugh, ignoring Jake's question,  
while taking off his backpack and jacket.

Jake rolled his eyes, grinning lavishly at Mickey, "you fucking wish."

Mickey just smiled back and chugged his beer.

"Shit, was it rough?" Jake asked watching as Mickey seemingly finished off his beer in just a few  
gulps.

"You could say that," Mickey confirmed letting out a belch.

"Sexy," Jake teased taking the empty bottle from Mickey's hand and placing it on the entry table.  
He draped his arms loosely around Mickey's shoulders and pressed for an answer, "your hands?"

"Dropped a full tray of plates. I was tryin' to pick up the pieces quickly so my ass wouldn't get  
canned and didn't realize I was fuckin 'em up."

"Opa," Jake muttered his lips pulling a sympathetic grimace.

"Huh?" Mickey asked raising his eyebrows before leaning in to kiss Jake's neck hotly.

Jake shook his head with a light laugh, "not important." A soft moan escaped his lips as Mickey  
began to suck and pull at the skin eagerly.

"Need you to fuck me," Mickey breathed into the other man's skin. He smelled vaguely of lemons  
and Mickey found it fucking intoxicating. He allowed his teeth to drag over the large tattoo that  
crept up Jake's neck, before passing back over the same area with a flat tongued lick.

"Shit. I can do that," Jake's voice was unraveling from the mixture of sensations.

"Gonna give it to me really fucking good?" He questioned moving his lips up to meet Jake's and  
passionately shoving his tongue into the other man's mouth. The kiss was open and sloppy. All  
tongues and heat.

"Fuck," Jake moaned into Mickey's mouth, overwhelmed by the intensity. "Yes. Really fucking  
good. Need that ass."

They kissed their way into the bedroom, hardly breaking away from each other as they frantically  
undressed. When they were both naked, Jake pushed Mickey back onto the bed and climbed on  
top of him licking and kissing at his collar bone then working his way down to his erect cock.  
Mickey groaned as Jake pulled him into his mouth, his technique as frantic and needy as Mickey  
felt. "Grab the stuff," He mumbled around Mickey's dick.

Mickey obliged tossing the lube and condoms that were sitting on Jake's bedside table down to the  
man that was eagerly working his cock.

Mickey protested when Jake pulled his mouth off of his dick but gasped out a "fuck" when Jake  
grabbed behind Mickey's knees and pushed his legs up so his mouth could gain full access to his  
ass. He wasted no time lapping and swirling at his rim, causing the tight muscles to twitch then  
loosen in pleasure. Mickey felt his legs begin to shake as Jake fucked into his hole with his  
tongue. In response to his trembles, Jake held Mickey's legs tighter and narrowed his tongue to  
push in deeper, "Holy fucking shit," Mickey practically screamed as Jake continued to expertly  
open him with his tongue.

He could hear a muffled laugh coming from Jake, but he didn't fucking care. It felt so damn good.  
Jake continued to eat him like he was starving and Mickey unapologetically whined and moaned  
like a bitch. "I'm ready," Mickey groaned begin to squirm under Jake's pressure.

Jake kept licking and pressing causing Mickey to gasp with each pass, "ready," he whined again,  
smacking Jake's head, "get the fuck in me" another laugh from Jake and another smack from  
Mickey and a dramatic cry of "I'm gonna fucking die."

Jake pulled off panting for breath as laughter escapes his lungs, his eyes bright with joy and lust,  
his chin sloppy with spit, "shit you're dramatic," he teased dropping Mickey's legs and sliding on a  
condom. He covered his cock with lube using one of his wet fingers to make sure Mickey was  
ready. He hummed his approval before lining his cock up to Mickey's hole and pushing in.  
Mickey breathed out a guttural groan that came from as deep as his knee caps and Jake caught it in  
his mouth as he smashed their lips together.

"Fuck you feel good," Jake moaned against Mickey's lips. He dropped down bodily on Mickey,  
hooking both under Mickey's arm pits and holding his hands together over Mickey's head. He was  
flank against the smaller man, Mickey's rock hard cock brushing against both of their stomach  
with each of Jake's shallow pushes.

"Givin' me just what I need," Mickey sighed into Jake's mouth, their tongues continuing to meet  
each other as they panted and moaned.

"Wanna make you feel good," Jake said, "wanna make you cum."

"Yeah?" Mickey breathed, "real close."

"Cum for me. You feel so good," Jake whispered hotly and he continued to vigorously pump his  
hips.

"Shiiiit," Mickey wheezed as he came untouched between that.

"So hot," Jake moaned loosening his hands and pulling up so he was arched off of Mickey. He  
dropped his hands to Mickey's hips and fucked into him hard, chasing his own orgasm. It was  
only a few pumps before Jake was twitching above him, Mickey feeling his warmth fill up the  
condom.

Jake grinned at Mickey with a moony look on his face and Mickey returned it with a twinkle in  
his bright blue eyes.

*

"Shit, that was good," Ian sighed rolling off of Theo and staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch  
his breath.

"If that was engaged sex, I can't even imagine how good married sex is going to be," Theo mused  
with a grin, leaning up on his elbow so he could look down at Ian, aimlessly playing with his red  
locks.

"We'll find out soon," Ian said smiling up at him. "May 10th."

"May 10th," Theo confirmed placing a soft kiss in Ian's lips. I'm gonna go lock down the house,  
want some water?"

"Sure," Ian nodded watching as Theo exited the room. He grabbed his phone and stared down at  
the blank screen before resuming his concentration on the ceiling.

He was going to get married. To Theo. Be with Theo forever. Live this life forever. He was  
happy, right?

Theo was handsome, caring and successful. He was exactly what Ian needed. He would provide  
him with a life of security and stability, things that he never could have imagined he'd have  
growing up the way he did. After Ian lost his EMT job unlatching that paranoid schizophrenic,  
Theo didn't flinch. He never laid into him, or judged him. He supported him, reassured him.  
Ian would never want for anything either tangibly or emotionally. He wouldn't have to worry  
about running out of his meds and not being able to afford a refill or hear the rumble of his hungry  
stomach as he fixed himself a macaroni salad sandwich. Theo was in love with him and Ian loved  
him too. He took care of Ian. Theo wanted to share his life with him.

Ian inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. He knew that Theo was right for him, but he couldn't deny  
the doubt that crept into his mind when he recalled how Mickey was the only thing he could think  
of while Theo was on his knees, in front of that room full of people, making grand statements  
about love. He shook his head trying to force the thoughts away.

For once in his life he was going to make the fucking good choice, the safe choice, the expected  
choice. His future depended on it.

Chapter Eighteen: Sick

"Do I gotta call the cops and tell 'em that I got a fucking stalker?" Mickey sniped shutting the front  
door behind him and walking past the redhead that was camped out on the front steps of his  
house.

"Could probably just call your boyfriend?" Ian teasingly suggested, standing up to follow Mickey,  
who hadn't slowed his stride and was heading through the front gate, "he's your boyfriend, right?"  
Mickey rolled his eyes and shot Ian the dirtiest look he could muster, "None of your fucking  
business is what he is, asshole." He stopped dead in his tracks, causing Ian to nearly bump into  
him. He turned to glare up at him, "why the fuck are you following me?"

"Wanted to talk to you. I've called you everyday, twice a day, for the past two weeks, you prick,"  
Ian spat, frustrated.

"Yeah, should've gotten the fucking hint then, smart guy. Got nothing to say to you," Mickey  
growled turning on his heels and picking up his pace down the block. Ian followed closely  
matching Mickey's stride.

"Well I have things to say to you," Ian said grabbing Mickey's elbow and attempting to turn him  
around.

"I'll fucking lay you out if you don't drop your fucking hand," Mickey warned slowly, feeling  
anger begin to course through his veins.

Ian let go of Mickey's elbow and put his hands up in surrender. He was intimidated. It had a long  
time since he'd felt intimidated by Mickey, but now he was 16 again, chasing Mickey down the  
same block, "I'm fucking sorry, ok. I was an asshole. The worst type of asshole. I get why you  
fucking hate me. I do. I'd probably hate me too," His green eyes were pleading, his voice  
wavering.

He continued when he realized that Mickey wasn't turning to walk away again. He was standing  
there glaring, but listening, "I should've never..." he closed his eyes tight, a lump rising in his  
throat as the memory of exposing Mickey's tattoo flooded into his mind. It pained him to even say  
it, which made it even more unbelievable that he actually DID it, he opened his eyes knowing full  
well they were brimming with tears, "with your tattoo. I should've never."

Mickey stood looking at him, his expression was unreadable, which freaked Ian out even more,  
considering he could typically read the guy like a book. There was a heavy silence between them,  
neither one filling it.

Ian shifted uncomfortably tucking his hands into his army green coat pockets. If he didn't know  
better he could swear he was wearing that damn coat lined with orange that he wore through all of  
his teenage years. He felt young and small, tentative and unsure. He realized that Mickey was  
waiting for him to continue. It wasn't good enough yet, he needed to give more.

"I was high, which was stupid to begin with..." Ian began, but Mickey cut him off with the simple  
lift of his eyebrows. "It's not an excuse," Ian agreed, "I was jealous, ok? Also not an excuse but I  
was really, really fucking jealous, Mick."

Mickey rubbed at his eyebrows for a moment and then sighed, "Jealous, Ian. Really? You're  
getting MARRIED. What right do you got to be fucking jealous?"

"How did you know..."

"All over the papers, golden boy," Mickey stated, making a quick catch. "You don't get to be  
jealous of your ex moving on when you're getting married. Shit, Gallagher."

Ian's eyes dropped and he looked down at his boot, asking quietly, "you're moving on?"

"Ain't gonna be nobody's side piece," Mickey said honestly. He paused, "And I want to."

"Want to what?" Ian asked, head still hung low, causing him to peek up through light eyelashes at  
Mickey.

"Move on," Mickey admitted, biting his lip.

Ian nodded and Mickey could see a tear rolling down his cheek.

"Hey, look at me," Mickey said softly, causing Ian to lift his head. The redhead wiped a few stray  
tears off his cheeks, his green eyes impossibly sad, "you don't get to fucking do this, Ian." He  
could hear his tone changing; Growing angrier, louder, releasing. Patience waning and anger  
bubbling, "you didn't visit. Years! Fucking years I was wasting away in there, alone and you  
didn't even fucking visit." He was screaming now, "Fuck you. You're not the fucking victim."

Ian's eyes had grown wide and knew it was his turn to listen. He nodded his head in agreement  
and waited for the well deserved lashing to continue.

"Fucking selfish bastard. Always been so fucking selfish. Your boyfriend know you're chasing  
around your ex, Ian? Once a cheater, always a fucking cheater, huh? That's what they say, right?"

He shoved Ian hard, still injured palms flat against the redheads broad chest. He shook his head  
and dropped his face, pushing against his eyes with the heels of his hands. He quietly cursed  
himself for getting this fucking worked up. Years of frustration, a need to be heard.

"Never meant to cheat on you," Ian whispered softly, "you know that. You know why."

"It doesn't fucking matter anyway," Mickey said shaking off his emotion, pulling up his facade,  
"you got your life, I got mine."

"Does he make you happy?" Ian asked his voice breaking with emotion.

"Maybe that's a fucking question you gotta ask yourself," Mickey shot back, beginning to walk  
again.

Ian stood on the sidewalk, shell shocked. He felt like his body was made of concrete. Heavy, cold,  
there.

"You fucking coming or what?" Mickey called to him, snapping him out of his stupor.

"Where are we going?" Ian asked falling back into step with Mickey. He felt broken, but there  
was a small victory in knowing that he was at least partially forgiven.

"Sam's," Mickey stated.

"Shit, I haven't had a Sam's sandwich in years."

"Too busy eating snails or some shit? Being a fancy motherfucker?," Mickey huffed, a familiar  
tone backing his statement.

Ian smirked and felt some of the weight leave his shoulder, "not a fan. Prefer caviar," he replied.

Yes, back in step and not just their feet.

The deli was surprisingly crowded for a Wednesday afternoon.

"I'm getting the roast beef, you get turkey and we'll split 'em," Mickey said as they stood in line.  
Ian nodded. Their order. He knew it. He grabbed a tube of BBQ Pringles off one of the shelves  
against the wall and two cokes from the fridge. They quietly waited their turn as the energy in the  
deli shifted.

The other patrons were whispering to one another, stealing glances in their direction. They looked  
at each other to see if the other noticed, an unspoken conversation that confirmed there was  
something strange going on.

When Mickey noticed a few teen girls, that must have just finished their school day, pointing their  
phones toward them he started to panic. "What the fuck's going on?" He muttered to Ian.  
Ian's eyes darted around the room. He felt like he was slipping into a mania. Were all these eyes  
really on him or was his brain fucking with him? Mickey noticed it to so it had to be real, right?  
His eyes fell on a man sitting by himself at a small table. He was looking back and forth between  
his newspaper and Ian over and over again, like he was trying to place him. Ian tore towards the  
guy and grabbed the newspaper out of his hand.

\---Headline: Engaged to Enraged: Goodwyn's Boy Toy Caught Cheating---

Ian felt hot, sour vomit begin to rise in his throat as he stared at the two pictures below the  
headline. The picture on the left was Ian, signature red hair on full display, pushing Mickey  
against a brick wall, lips locked in a passionate kiss. Candyland. Fuck.

The picture on the right was Ian smiling uncomfortably for the camera beside the big weird dude  
that wanted a picture of proof for his wife. Holy fucking shit. He was going to be sick.

Chapter Nineteen: No

“The fuck?” Mickey mumbled as he walked towards Ian. He grabbed the newspaper out of Ian’s  
hands and felt adrenaline course through his body as soon as his eyes fell on the pictures. Shit. His  
hands shook causing the paper to flap and wave gently. He tried to draw in a breath, but struggled  
to find one. Wide eyed he turned to Ian, whose alabaster skin had turned a hue of white that he  
didn’t think was humanly possible. He dropped the newspaper and immediately jumped into  
action, grabbing Ian by the elbow to lead him outside.

As soon as they passed the threshold Ian was down; body weak, on hands and knees, heaving  
violently, vomiting.

“No,” Mickey heard himself say, he felt like he was out of his body, watching himself, survival  
mode. He pulled Ian up by his armpits and quickly wiped the redhead’s messy mouth with the arm  
of his black jacket, “not here.” He could feel the eyes from the other side of the window fixed on  
them, judging. They needed to move. Somehow Mickey cajoled Ian into motion and they were  
off.

Ian pulled his phone out of his pocket and realized that it was dead, “Shit,” He murmured, “I gotta  
get home, Mick. I gotta…” He shook his head feeling tears begin to well in his eyes, “fuck this is  
bad.”

“Real bad,” Mickey agreed, lighting a cigarette. He needed to calm the fuck down, “Gonna find  
that fat motherfucker… Selena may know him. Seemed like a regular. Gotta find him. Teach him  
a fucking lesson…”

“No!” Ian stopped dead in his tracks, grabbing Mickey and getting his face, “No. You don’t do  
anything. You hear me? You don’t do shit.”

Mickey shoved his cigarette into Ian’s mouth, hearing a slight sigh come from his lips, and lit  
another one for himself, “Gotta do something,” He stated his foot tapping anxiously.

Ian shook his head, “No.” They stared at each other for a moment, their eyes panicked. “You fuck  
him up, they’ll give you at least ten. Not fucking worth it.”

Mickey flicked his nose with his knuckle, looking at the park across the street, “what’re you  
gonna do?” He asked his eyes falling on two boys rough housing.

“Not sure,” Ian replied softly, “Grovel maybe?”

“Probably a strong start,” Mickey nodded, looking at Ian with concern, “He’s gotta be fuckin  
mortified.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed rubbing his teary eyes, “Shit.” He sniffed, “Things gonna be ok with you  
and...”Ian searched for the guy’s name, but couldn’t find it.

“Jake,” Mickey filled in, thinking of the man’s gorgeous eyes and how he didn’t wanna see any  
fucking sadness in them. Ever. “Yeah.”

“Good,” He paused and rubbed his forehead. “I fuck everything up,” It was a statement of  
realization, like he was coming to terms with patterns that had plagued him for years, “Anything I  
touch, I fuck it up.” He looked directly in Mickey’s blue eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Mickey didn’t know how to respond, so he just stood in the heavy silence before saying, “Gotta  
go tell that to your fiancé.”

Ian nodded, tentative to move, “Should probably…”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, not knowing what else to say in the situation. He would be lying to  
himself if he didn’t recognize that he was worried as hell about Ian’s health. This shit would be a  
lot for anyone to cope with, but for Ian it was astronomical. He knew it would start a spiral. No  
way the guy had the ability to deal with it.

Ian wanted to hug Mickey, kiss him, cry on his shoulder, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair.  
Instead he gave the brunet one last look and began to walk away. He had only made it a few feet  
before he heard Mickey’s voice call out to him, “Hey Ian.” He turned over his shoulder to look at  
Mickey. He was shifting uncomfortably and smoking his cigarette, hands still shaking slightly.

“Shits fucked up, ok. But you gotta take care of yourself.”

Ian nodded his agreement, a promise they both knew he wouldn’t keep, before continuing on his  
way.

A half hour later he was standing at the front door of his house, wondering just how long he’d be  
able to call it that. He glanced at Margaret and Sean’s cars parked in the driveway and wished he  
didn’t have to face them too.

He wanted to run away, hit the pavement and pump his legs until they gave out. He couldn’t. He  
had to do this. He drew in a shaky breath, opened the door slowly, and steeled himself for what  
was coming. He knew they were in Theo’s office, coming up with a game plan, some type of  
spin, worried about Theo’s career. The wrecking ball that was Ian Gallagher couldn’t just fuck up  
his relationship; he had to fuck up Theo’s livelihood as well.

He considered hurrying to his bed and hiding under the covers, thinking that maybe if he closed  
his eyes tight enough and then opened them he would wake up from this nightmare. If that didn’t  
work he could just grab his car keys and just drive; drive until he forgot it all. He could find a new  
town, a new life. Or, he could stop being a fucking pussy and face Theo.

He walked to Theo’s office and stood in the open doorway. Theo was hunched over in his desk  
chair, forehead pressed against his desk. Margaret and Sean were sitting a few feet away at the  
conference table whispering frantically into their respective cell phones.

What could he say? Where would he start? What would give justice to the hurt that Theo was  
feeling? “Hi,” Ian’s voice croaked. It wasn’t poetic, but it was something.

Theo lifted his head quickly, puffy, red rimmed eyes darting to Ian. The older man just stared for a  
moment, frozen in space, unsure of how to react, what to do. Sean and Margaret turned their  
heads to the doorway, looking through Ian like he was air as they continued their calls.

Theo stood up slowly and muttered, “bedroom” as he passed by his fiancé without another look.  
Ian followed him and pulled the door closed after they had both entered. Theo sat down on the  
edge of the bed, eyeing his shoes, unable to look at Ian. “how could you?” he breathed.

“Theo, I’m so sorry,” Ian said dropping to his knees in front of the bed, desperately trying to pull  
Theo’s eyes towards him. He rested his hands on Theo’s knees, cringing at the automatic tensing  
he felt under his touch. “I’m so so so sorry.”

“Is he the old friend?” Theo choked out, forcing himself to look down into Ian’s glassy eyes.

Ian nodded and admitted softly, “yeah, he is.”

“You told me nothing happened,” Theo reminded him pushing the tears away as they poured  
down his cheek. Ian couldn’t remember ever seeing Theo cry. He decided it was one of the worst  
sights he’d ever seen. For ever tear that fell from his blue eyes, Ian felt a stab in his chest.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ian said honestly, feeling his own tears falling, “I really fucked up.”

“Did you sleep with him, Ian?” Theo asked unable to look at the man in front of him. He stared  
off towards the window, waiting for an answer he already knew.

“Yes,” Ian breathed, his hands beginning to shake on Theo’s knees.

Theo bit his lip, attempting to still its vibrating, eyes still avoiding Ian’s face. “How many times?”

“Twice,” He replied quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“Shit,” Theo mumbled finally turning his face back to Ian’s, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Ian whispered staring up at him, eyes full of apology.

“I should’ve seen it,” Theo sniffed, “I knew something was off with you, but I didn’t want to  
believe it. Lip was right.” He shook his head sadly, “I wasn’t taking care of you.”

“What?” Ian muttered, shock beginning to settle over him. Theo couldn’t be turning this around  
onto himself, could he?

“I called Dr. Torres,” he continued, taking Ian’s shaky hands into his own, “she told me this can  
be a part of it, your Bipolar. Says sometimes patients can get hypersexual. Make bad choices.”  
Ian shook his head no, beginning to feel frantic, “I did this, Theo.” He made the choice, right? He  
knew what he was doing, didn’t he? He hadn’t been sleeping well, but he didn’t feel manic. Was  
he manic? Theo’s reasoning was fucking him up. He knew what he was doing. He made the  
choice. This was too much. His head was spinning.

“I know you did,” Theo confirmed gently, “You need help, Ian. She’s suggesting that you check  
yourself into a private inpatient facility. You need to deal with your cocaine use and get yourself  
back on track.”

He was shaking his head more vigorously now, “No, no, Theo I can’t.” He pulled his hands back  
and shot up beginning to the pace the room. He wanted to put him away, “You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to,” Theo replied, “I really am. Dr. Torres said that 60 days could do the trick, maybe  
even 30 if it goes well. 2 months and we can start healing.”

Ian froze in place, his jaw dropped, “You still want to marry me?”

“I was ready to promise you sickness and health, Ian. I’m not going to leave you because you’re  
sick,” Theo stated, “What kind of person do you think I am?”

“A really, really fucking good person,” Ian answered honestly, “Too fucking good for me.”

“Margaret and Sean think that you seeking treatment would help smooth things over, too. May  
help us avoid too much damage in the long run. We could even get you involved in some mental  
health activism,” Theo began tentatively.

“They’re going to tell everyone I’m bipolar?” Ian exclaimed nervously “And that I’m checking  
into a fucking asylum?”

“People will be more compassionate to your disorder than you being a coke fiend,” Theo stated  
flatly, “and if I want to continue in politics and marry you, we need you to appear sympathetic.”

“Wow,” Ian breathed, “You really want me to do this?”

“I really do,” Theo said matter-of-factly.

Ian nodded, “Ok. Then I’ll do it.”

Chapter Twenty: A Million Times

"See the paper?" Selena asked as Mickey entered the house, "You're front page news."

"Yeah I saw it," Mickey grunted making his way directly to the refrigerator and pulling out a can  
of beer. He held it for a second before deciding that it wouldn't be enough and grabbed the rest of  
the 6 pack.

"Bet his man leaves his ass," Selena stated bringing a spoonful of yogurt to her lips, "I would,  
believe that."

Mickey didn't respond to her, he just carried the beer back to his bedroom, closed the door, and  
threw himself down on the bed. He popped open the first can, made quick work of draining it,  
burped, tossed it and moved onto the next one.

Just as he was opening the fifth can, and feeling no pain, his phone vibrated. He sighed when he  
saw Jake's name on the screen. Not the conversation he wanted to have right now. He ignored the  
call and got a text message shortly after. Octopus emoji.

Maybe he hadn't seen the paper? Or if he did, maybe he didn't realize that it was Mickey in the  
picture, his face was practically being inhaled, so it was a possibility. He decided to chance it and  
call Jake back.

"You're famous," Jake teased as soon as he answered the call. Fucking A.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Mickey groaned beginning to chug number five.

"Night before our date, huh?" Jake began. His voice didn't sound angry or hurt, just curious, "You  
come straight from getting fucked to brunch with me?"

Mickey bristled. He was drunk, irritated and didn't owe Jake shit. "Nah man, I did all the fucking  
that night," he sneered.

"That right?" Jake said clearing his throat, obviously moving from sort of teasing to pretty pissed  
off.

"That's right," Mickey confirmed voice cold.

The line was quiet for a moment before Jake filled the space, "You still sleeping with him?"

"None of you're fucking business," Mickey stated knowing full well that he was falling into old  
patterns, but too fucking burnt out to do shit about it.

"You don't owe me shit," Jake sighed, "I just thought we were headed towards something more  
serious."

"Haven't fucked with him since I've been fucking with you," Mickey groaned, "that what you  
wanna hear?"

"Only if it's the truth..." Jake said.

"I don't lie," Mickey asserted.

Jake thought about pushing, asking for more, but decided against it. Clearly it would be poking  
the bear. "Can I come by your place? Bring you something to eat?"

Food sounded really fucking good and Jake sounded pretty good, too. He'd never been to  
Mickey's place before and though Mickey wasn't sure he was ready for that step, his mind was  
fuzzy and French Fries were on the line. "Cheeseburger and a shit ton of French fries. I'll text you  
the address."

About an hour later, there was a knock at the door and Mickey bumped into two walls in his  
scramble to answer it before Selena. He was too late.

"You have really, really good taste in men, Mickey," She mused looking at Jake like she was  
going to devour him for dinner, "I mean, really, really good taste."

"That's like, ten 'reallys,' that's serious," Jake said with a smirk. He held up the takeout bags for  
Mickey to see.

"My room," Mickey stated wanting to get as far away from the really, really, really annoying  
Selena as humanly possible.

"You can eat in the kitchen," she suggested, voice saccharine.

"Um, no," Mickey said turning back towards his room. Jake gave her a polite, half apologetic  
smile before following Mickey. "Welcome to my shithole," he blurted locking the door and then  
waving his arms around in presentation.

"Talk about a time warp," Jake chuckled looking at all the old band posters on the walls. He  
leaned over to plant a quick kiss on Mickey's lips.

"Frozen in time. Living the dream," Mickey said grabbing the bag out of Jake's hand, sitting down  
on the bed, and going straight for the fries, "so fucking good," he warbled with his mouth full. He  
closed his eyes to savor the salty sticks, "shit."

"You gonna cum, man?" Jake joked sitting down on the bed next to him and grabbing his burger.

"Maybe," Mickey admitted with a shit eating grin on his face, "the fucking best ever right here."

"Me?" Jake teased, eyebrows raised searching for reassurance.

"That too, needy octopus," Mickey drawled.

"So, how wasted are you?" Jake asked taking a bite of his burger.

"Whiskey dick level," Mickey stated.

"Good to know," Jake laughed. He paused face turning serious. "I'm sorry about all this shit,  
Mickey."

Mickey shrugged hoovering more fries into his mouth, "Par for the fuckin course with Gallagher."

"You golf?" Jake asked surprised.

"Huh?" Mickey questioned raising his eyebrows in confusion.

"Never mind," Jake said with a grin, "so things were always complicated with him?"

Mickey laughed wildly, "shit, you have no fucking idea. Bastard got me shot twice."

"You're kidding!" Jake exclaimed surprised.

"Not really though," Mickey responded, "my ass and my thigh."

"Shit," Jake breathed and if he wasn't mistaken he caught a look of nostalgia passing over  
Mickey's face.

"Yeah, shit," Mickey agreed.

"Your phone's ringing," Jake informed him tossing the vibrating phone that was laying next to  
him Mickey's way.

Mickey looked down at the screen and then back up at Jake, "I gotta.."

Jake nodded turning his attention back to his burger while inconspicuously planning to listen to  
every fucking word. He knew Mickey was drunk and stressed, but he could feel the obvious  
distance between them and he didn't like it.

"What," Mickey said as a greeting. He paused, his eyes becoming worried. Jake hated only  
hearing one side of a conversation, he tried to hone in and extrapolate what the other man was  
saying, based on Mickey's reactions. He got paid to read people, he'd put it to practice.

"Stop crying, Ian. I can't understand a fucking word coming out of your mouth."  
He rolled his eyes, "yeah. The fuck does it matter if I am?"

Another pause, "beer. Can you get to the fucking point? I'm busy."

Mickey's face dropped, "No shit," he breathed. His voice softened and he shifted so that he was  
partially turned away from Jake. "Don't matter the reason, though. Could be good for you, right?"  
Jake noticed a glassiness in Mickey's eyes he wasn't sure could exist. He didn't seem like a crier.

As if he read Jake's thoughts, Mickey pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes willing the  
tears to stay back, and they did. "I know you don't wanna go. But it could be good."

"No I'm not gonna stop saying it," he spat, mood changing once again, "you fucking called me."

His eyes rolled again, "what the fuck ever, Gallagher." A light laugh, voice tempered down  
again," Listen, you gotta make the best of it, ok? If they can.." he whispered low, "get you off that  
shit." Another pause, "is it fucking easier if you think of it as rehab and not a nut house?"

Jake raised his eyebrows and made himself incredibly busy picking lint off of Mickey's comforter.

"Seriously sack up you piece of shit, I did 8 fucking years in lock up, you can do two months in  
some Cape May, Betty Ford, feelings bullshit place," Mickey snapped. Pause, "no fuck you,  
asshole."

He shook his head at something Ian was saying and then dropped his voice again, "Nah, I  
understand."

What a fucking rollercoaster. Jake was beginning to think they were both crazy.

Mickey shook his head again, "ok." A heavy sigh. Whatever Ian had said shook Mickey to the  
core, the color draining from his face, "Didn't think so. Thought it was the coke" he paused,  
"dunno, maybe you have been."

Biting his lip, "Yeah, you can. Alright." Another pause, "ok." He clicked out of the call and  
tossed the phone aside. "Got a fucking headache now," he groused.

"Rehab?" Jake asked softly.

"Sorta," Mickey replied shoving a few more fries in his mouth.

"May be for political optics or something," Jake suggested tentatively seeing if Mickey would let  
him continue the conversation.

Mickey shrugged, "could be? He needs it though. Just fucking hates going."

"He's been before?" Jake pushed.

This earned raised eyebrows from Mickey and a quiet mouth.

"More fries?" Jake asked aborting his mission and raising up his cardboard carton as a peace  
offering.

Mickey grinned and accepted the gesture enthusiastically.

Chapter Twenty-One: Die

Theo was on edge as he walked through the doors of Synergy Mental Health. "Theo Goodwyn  
here to see Ian Gallagher," he said the receptionist, clearing his throat as she picked up the phone  
to call Ian's doctor.

He wasn't supposed to be here. When he dropped Ian off 3 weeks ago, they were very explicit  
about the no contact rule. They didn't want the patients to have to cope with any outside stressors.

They were at Synergy to focus on themselves and their wellness in isolation; a completely safe  
space.

Why had Dr. Wenn called him here? It seemed unorthodox and it worried Theo immensely. He  
wanted to believe that Ian was doing well, but couldn't help but worry that he was being ejected  
from the facility. Could they even do that? He sighed.

"Go ahead back," the receptionist said buzzing open the double doors, "Ian's nurse, Cammie, will  
meet you and take you back to the therapy room."

Theo thanked her before meeting Cammie just beyond the doors. He remembered her from intake,

"Is Ian alright?" Theo asked trying to conceal the panic in his voice, but failing.

Cammie rested her hand on his elbow softly, a calming influence, "Like Dr. Wenn said, he's fine,  
he's just hitting some challenges."

Theo nodded and followed Cammie down a series of long hallways before entering a large, bright  
room that was exceptionally well decorated in soft blues and tans. Ian was sitting on the oversized  
couch across from a few recliners, one of which Dr. Wenn was occupying. As soon as he saw  
Theo, the doctor got up to shake his hand, "Thanks for coming Mr. Lt. Gov, for our purposes  
today, I'd like to call you Theo, as long as that's agreeable with you."

Theo laughed uncomfortably glancing over to Ian, who was staring down at his hands, wringing  
nervously. "Of course," He replied warmly.

Dr. Wenn smiled and said, "please." Gesturing for Theo to take a seat. Theo walked over to sit on  
the couch with Ian, while Cammie and Dr. Wenn each sat in a recliner.

"Hey," Theo said his voice soft but heavy with concern. He leaned over to kiss Ian on the cheek,  
earning him a nervous, half smile reply from his fiancé.

"Theo," Dr. Wenn began, "As you know, it's rare for us to involve family in our therapy, as we  
focus exclusively on the patient here at Synergy. That being said, for every rule, there is an  
exception and as Ian's health coaches we had to make an exception for the benefit of his  
progress."

Theo nodded his understanding, even though he had no clue where Dr. Wenn was going with  
this. All he knew was that Ian was still looking down, wringing his hands, a strange action that he  
had never seen him do before.

"It was imperative to bring you in because we've reached an impasse in Ian's therapy that we can't  
move past unless he lives his truth."

"Ok," Theo said feeling his leg begin to shake nervously. "Sorry," he muttered realizing that Dr.  
Wenn and Cammie had caught sight of the involuntary movement.

"Let me get you some water," Cammie said walking over to a small table and pouring Theo a  
glass of water. She handed it to him and sat back down.

"Ian, I know you are strong and capable of sharing your truth," Dr. Wenn stated. "Are you  
ready?"

Ian nodded solemnly and looked at Theo. He took a deep breath, "I was lucid and clear when I  
cheated on you, Theo," Ian admitted, his eyes stinging with moisture. "It was a choice. My mind  
was clear. It was a choice."

Theo felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He turned to Dr. Wenn, "Dr. Torres told me  
that being hypersexual could be a manifestation of Bipolar."

"It can be," Dr. Wenn confirmed, "but what Ian is telling you, is he was not manic when he made  
the conscious decision to be with Mickey."

Theo was shocked by the fact that Dr. Wenn knew the other man's name. He had talked about  
him. "I see," he breathed.

"We've found a combination of medications that is working well for Ian," Cammie added, "he's  
balanced and stable. Ian is speaking right now. Not his disorder."

Theo nodded, "Ok." His voice was shaking. This was too much.

"I'm sorry," Ian said softly, "it wasn't fair to you. It was wrong and I'm sorry." He took a deep  
inhale earning a 'good Ian' from Cammie.

"Go on, Ian. You're doing great," Dr. Wenn encouraged.

"Theo," he croaked, taking another deep breath, "I can't marry you," another inhale, "I can't be  
with you anymore."

Theo could feel the tears begin to fall from his eyes and Cammie was immediately handing him a  
box of tissues. He took it with a polite half smile and blew his nose wetly. "I don't understand, Ian.  
You know I will give you anything you need, whatever you want. I love you," Theo pleaded  
desperately.

Ian shot a worried look toward Dr. Wenn. The doctor nodded his head for Ian to respond and Ian  
cleared his throat. "Theo, I need Mickey." He paused, steeling himself,"I want Mickey." Deep  
breath, "I love Mickey."

Theo dropped his face into his hands and began to sob. Ian's face was panicked and Cammie  
jumped to her feet to bring him water.

Dr. Wenn said softly to Ian that he was brave and stood up, walking over to Theo. He rested his  
hand on the man's back, attempting to give him some comfort. "Theo, we can stay here as long as  
you'd like, talk this through, but we need to remove Ian from the room, ok? Too much stress is a  
trigger for him. Though his medications are calibrated, we still have work to do. Please, if you  
have anything to share with him now is the time."

Theo looked at Ian, his face stained with tears, "I want you to stay for the full 60 days, ok? I'll still  
take care of it." He paused, "I'm not going to lie, this hurts, but I can tell you're doing well, and I  
want that for you."

"Thank you," Ian said barely audible. Cammie put a hand on Ian's back indicating that it was time  
to go. He stood up and bit his lip, looking at Theo, "I did love you. I really did. I just..." he  
couldn't finish his thought feeling the emotion overcome him.

"Ok, Ian," Cammie said softly leading him out of the room. Ian kept his head forward, not looking  
back.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Head

Warning: Brief mention of suicidal thoughts.

It had been six weeks since the first of many articles regarding Ian's infidelity had occupied the  
front page of the Chicago Tribune. The reports got more brutal by the week, systematically tearing  
at Ian's character and exposing his deepest most tightly held secrets.  
It seemed like every other day "sources" were confirming another allegation. Nothing was off  
limits including his history with stripping, prostitution, porn, drug use, crime, bipolar disorder and  
Mickey.

The first time Mickey saw his name in the newspaper with the words "ex-boyfriend convicted of  
attempted murder" strung behind it, he felt as though he was living in an altered state of reality,  
sure this couldn't actually be real life.

He ruminated for days over who could have sold him out and given up his name, his history. He  
settled on the realization that there were enough assholes at the Alibi willing to sell him down the  
river for the promise of an illicit payout. He could have beaten his way through the bunch of them  
until he got some answers, but with an increased attention on him from the media, it hardly  
seemed like a good idea.

His story was exposed the day after he met a bunch of the guys Jake worked with at an Happy  
Hour Jake had dragged him to. He wanted to believe they'd never put two and two together but as  
Jake reminded him "Cops have good ass memories for names and faces, kinda part of the job."

Mickey remembered examining Jake's expressions for signs of shame or embarrassment, but  
frustratingly realized he couldn't yet see past Jake's well practiced stiff upper lip yet. He was  
forced to take Jake's reassurances at face value.

He knew there had to be some unsureness on Jake's part, strictly due to how their relationship  
looked to the outside world: Cop and convict. People would question Jake's judgement, which  
wouldn’t be great for his career. Mickey didn't feel good about it, but he didn’t feel that bad about  
it either. It wasn't like Jake didn't know what he was getting into before they started dated. He  
looked in his damn file. He knew the score.

“What’s the story today?” Jake asked coming up behind the couch and draping his octopus arms  
around Mickey’s shoulders so he could peer at the paper in Mickey’s hand.

“All about the Gallaghers and what fuckin white trash they are,” Mickey replied grimly.

“Are they?” Jake questioned.

“We all are,” Mickey scoffed like it was the dumbest fucking question ever.

Jake laughed a bit and kissed Mickey’s cheek, “True. What are you thinking for dinner?”

“Whatever you’re cooking,” Mickey said looking back at his boyfriend with a grin. Jake caught  
his lips, kissing into his smile.

“Not happening,” Jake uttered in the brief moments that their tongues weren’t entangled, “too  
tired.”

“Gonna let me starve?” Mickey pouted pulling his tongue back. Jake pushed forward to catch him  
again and laughed lightly into Mickey’s mouth. They kissed that way for another few minutes  
before Jake came around the front of the couch, straddled Mickey’s legs, and got straight back to  
business. “You’re so fucking hot, puss.” Mickey breathed, dropping his hand down to grab Jake’s  
sweatpant covered ass.

“Hate when you call me puss,” Jake sulked pulling away from Mickey’s mouth.

Mickey laughed, “C’mon, it’s fucking funny.” He raised his eyebrows and awaited a response.

Jake rolled his eyes, “Not really,” He sighed and fell back onto Mickey’s mouth, “Lucky you’re  
so cute.” He said between kisses, “get away with murder.”

Mickey immediately roared with laughter causing Jake to laugh with him, “Couldn’t even get  
away with attempted murder. Shit.” He spanked Jake’s ass hard causing him to yelp, which  
caused Mickey to spank him again.

“Wanna just fuck, eat Cup Noodles, then fuck some more,” Jake asked once they caught their  
breath, faces red from the jocular nature of it all.

“Hell yeah,” Mickey smirked tightening his grip on Jake’s ass and pulling his boyfriend towards  
him hard, drawing a pleased moan from Jake’s lips. “We flippin?”

“Hell yeah,” Jake drawled, voice naughty inside Mickey’s mouth.

*

“Did you eat dinner?” Dr. Wenn asked Ian as he and Cammie entered the therapy room.  
Ian nodded his head and Cammie confirmed it was true informing Dr. Wenn that their patient had  
“a turkey sandwich, apple, cheese stick, and milk.” Ian took a seat on the couch across from the  
recliners occupied by Dr. Wenn and now Cammie.

“Good, good,” Dr. Wenn was pleased, “I think you’ll be feeling better now that you ate a good  
amount,” Dr. Wenn informed Ian, “It should help to stop the diarrhea. I know eating seems  
counterintuitive when you’re feeling nauseated, but we’ve upped your medications significantly  
and the snacks that may have cut it before won’t now. You have to take them with a full meal,  
preferably with milk.

“Got it,” Ian said flatly. He was sick of talking about all of his shit. His mental shit, his physical  
shit, it was all shit and he was over it. Two more weeks. He just had to make it two more weeks.

“What’s your emotion of the day, Ian?” Dr Wenn asked falling into their usual routine.

“Scared,” Ian admitted, turning his eyes immediately to the chart hanging on the wall behind Dr.  
Wenn.

“Fear, alright, it’s a fear day. And rate it on the mood chart,” Dr. Wenn prompted.

“8,” Ian began, quickly correcting himself, “No, a 9. Yeah, a 9.”

“That’s really high, Ian,” Dr. Wenn stated writing something quickly in his notepad, “Highest  
you’ve reported in a while.”

Ian shrugged anxiously, “Guess so.”

“Close your eyes,” Dr. Wenn directed. Ian obliged. “I’m going to make a statement and you are  
going to tell me what comes to your mind as soon as I say it, ok?” Ian nodded, “I am afraid  
that…”

“Mickey won’t want to be with me,” Ian said softly, his eyes still shut. “That I fucked things up  
too bad.”

“Ok, that’s what we’ll focus on,” Dr. Wenn said writing again. Ian was pretty sure that his  
notepad just had the name Mickey written it over and over again. Each of the last 42 some odd  
days, would have the date, scared, a number and Mickey. He wasn’t even sure why they did the  
same exercise, had the same conversations, nothing ever changed. “Go ahead and open your eyes,  
Ian.”

Ian did as he was told and could feel the familiar sting of cold air hitting his wet eyes. Cammie  
was quick with the tissues. Routine.

“You’ll begin making a list of the reasons you fear that Mickey won’t want to be with you and  
pause if you hit one that you feel you need to talk through at more length. If you don’t feel the  
need to speak any further about them you don’t need to. We just need to expel our doubts. Ok?,”

Dr. Wenn said, “Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”

“I always fuck everything up, I’m Bipolar, I cheated on him, selfish, the tattoo thing a few months  
ago, only visited him twice when he was locked up,” Ian paused, his tears falling more rapidly  
from his eyes.

“Are you pausing to speak more about not visiting him often in prison?” Cammie asked  
soothingly.

Ian shook his head, “No, I just… need a minute.”

Both Dr. Wenn and Cammie waited patiently as Ian sobbed into the tissues for a good 5 minutes.  
When he felt like there were no more tears, he laughed wetly, “I made it through more this time  
before the big breakdown.”

“Be kind to yourself, Ian,” Cammie said softly.

“Do you have more to add?” Dr. Wenn pushed gently.

“Um, I run away a lot, he’s probably still with that cop,” He paused but shook his head before  
they could ask if that was a something he’d like to talk more about. “I guess I don’t really like to  
get fucked too often, I know he really likes when I fuck him, but I think he also likes to fuck me  
and I pretty much never used to let him. I mean, sometimes, but not the way he’d want to.” He  
stopped and looked at Dr. Wenn and Cammie. “I guess that’s something I’d like to talk about  
more.”

Ian caught Cammie’s eyes widen slightly before she pulled them back in and nodded. Dr. Wenn  
just said, “Ok, let’s talk about intercourse then.”

“I’m totally fucking with you,” Ian said with a small grin, “I mean, what I said was true, but I  
don’t need to talk about it more, I probably should just let him fuck me more if he wants to.” He  
paused and bit his lower lip, “I really hope he wants to.”

Cammie tried to hold back her smile and Dr. Wenn just nodded, “Let’s do one more, ok?”

“Alright,” Ian agreed.

“Still fear?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, eyes closed. ‘I’m afraid that…’”

“I’ll have nothing when I get out of here,” Ian confessed. Waiting a beat before opening his eyes.

“You’ll begin making a list of the reasons you fear that you won’t have anything, as you say,  
when your time at Synergy is complete. Remember to pause if you hit one that you feel you need  
to talk through at more length. If you don’t feel the need to speak any further about them you  
don’t need to. We just need to expel our doubts. Ok?,” Same old prompts.

“Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”

“Grew up with nothing, Theo gave me a lot, never had to worry about money when I was with  
him, concerned about my medications,” He began, but Cammie interrupted.

“We’re going to set you up with a government assistance program before we release you, Ian, you  
don’t have to worry about your medication, ok?” Cammie reassured him. Ian nodded. “Ok, I’m  
sorry, go ahead.”

“Um, I don’t have a job, or a place to live,” He paused, “I guess I need to talk about that.”

“Ok, where would you like to live?” Dr. Wenn asked.

“With Mickey.” Ian responded quickly.

“Right, but we’ve talked about that being…”

“Unrealistic,” Ian completed the doctor’s sentence.

Dr. Wenn nodded, “Right, so what are your other options?”

“Lip’s couch or Fiona’s. Don’t want to go to Fiona’s,” Ian said quickly.

“Why not Fiona’s, Ian?” Dr. Wenn asked.

“She’s too much. Nags too much, too much drama. Too much."

“So then Lip’s..” Dr. Wenn suggested.

“Guess so, for now,” Ian said reluctantly, “I have to get a job, but I think it will be hard cause I  
was fired from the EMT job and I don’t really have a lot of other skills. I’ll have to make money  
fast. Faster than I would if I tried to get a 9-5.”

“So what are you considering?” Dr. Wenn prompted. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this  
very same conversation.

“Maybe the modeling. I got that card,” Ian began, “So I could probably call that agent.”  
Dr. Wenn nodded, “That sounds good, right?”

“Yeah, sounds ok,” Ian agreed.

“So we got away from your list, let’s go back to it,” Cammie suggested, bracing herself with the  
tissues, knowing what was coming next.

“Um, I know all of that shit’s going to be hard. I’m worried that I gave up everything that made  
my life easy with Theo and, you know, maybe it won’t matter and I won’t have Mickey,” he  
sniffed, “and that would make me feel like I wouldn’t really have anything to live for” Ian said his  
voice miniscule, eyes welling once again, face dropping into his hands and then the sobbing  
began.

“That’s what we’re working on, right, Ian?” Cammie said coming over to rub his back as he cried,  
“We are making plans so you can cope with whatever the outcome is.”

Ian shook his head in agreement, not peeling his hands away from his face, feeling too exposed.

“Tomorrow morning we have our ‘Dealing with Loneliness’ workshop,” Dr. Wenn stated, “I’m  
going to schedule you to join us.”

Ian nodded his head again, grabbing the tissues from Cammie’s hand and burying his face in  
them.

Chapter Twenty- Three: No More

“You ready?” Cammie asked Ian as she leaned against the exterior door that led to the parking lot.  
She allowed her eyes to carefully assess Ian as they had for so many days before.

“Probably not,” He replied with a small, forced smile, “But I’m going to try to be.”

“That’s the most we can hope for, right? That we keep trying to be ok, keep trying to be healthy,”

She said rubbing Ian’s arm in that soothing way that he had grown used to.  
Ian nodded his agreement, “Thanks for everything, Cammie, I’ll miss you” he confessed leaning  
down to wrap her in a hug.

“I’ll miss you, too,” She replied softly, knowing that she would. She had grown to really love the  
guy, “I’m rooting for you, Ian,” she paused and dropped her voice lower not wanting the  
receptionist to hear, “And do me a favor.. go get your man.”

Ian grinned at her, a spark in his eyes that she had yet to see. It made her heart jump, because  
somehow she knew that he would be alright. Something had ignited to life inside of him, after just  
existing, eyes dead, for all those days that had dragged into weeks, and then months. “Gonna try  
like hell,” He informed her, giving one last smile and hug before pushing the door open and  
walking out.

“They actually let you out, huh?” Lip called to him dancing from one foot to the other trying to  
find some warmth.

Ian rushed over to his brother and hugged him hard, turning his face so he could snuggle his nose  
into Lip’s black beanie.

“You good?” Lip asked rubbing Ian’s back a bit as reciprocated the hug. He felt Ian nod into his  
neck.

“Real good,” Ian said pulling back, “So fucking happy to be out.”

“They treat you alright in there?” Lip questioned lighting a cigarette and beginning to walk  
towards the El.

“They did, but didn’t make being in there any better,” Ian responded nudging Lip to light one up  
for him. “Gimme.”

Lip sighed and handed Ian the carton and lighter, earning a smile Ian.

“So, you can stay as long as you gotta, man. Don’t got much room, but the couch is all yours.  
Really as long as you need,” Lip said glancing up at his brother with an honest nod.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Theo had all your shit boxed up and moved over. It’s taking up like 90% of my  
apartment,” Lip informed him.

“I’ll probably sell a bunch of it. Make some money, don’t got any,” Ian replied, nearly slipping on  
a patch of ice, “Shit” he grumbled.

“Careful there,” Lip chuckled, “Yeah, you probably should sell some of it. I mean, you don’t gotta  
pay rent or anything, but I can’t float you on food and shit for too long, the garage isn’t that busy  
in the winter so things haven’t been too good.”

“I get it,” Ian nodded and he did. For a while he had thought that maybe he had forgotten how to  
live like this, but he didn’t. He realized it had been right there under the gilded surface, never truly  
abating; the struggle, the memories, the squirrel fund. “Think I may have something lined up.  
Money should come in pretty quick.”

“Another sugar daddy?” Lip teased, drawling a nasty scowl out of Ian and a hard shove. “Too  
soon?”

“Wasn’t like that and you know it,” Ian protested.

“C’mon man, Theo was boring as shit. Why else would you be with him?” Lip snorted

“Shut up,” Ian said rolling his eyes, “Just wish I would’ve fucking saved some of it, you know?  
The money.”

“Cycle of poverty, man. We’re never gonna save. Not really,” Lip informed him.

Ian nodded and fixed his eyes on a few weather worn trees in the median; bare, snow weighing  
down on their fragile branches, threatening to snap. If it weren’t for those leaf barren trees,  
covered in snow he would have forgotten it was already late January. Time had slipped away  
from him in Synergy.

Thanksgiving and Christmas were both spent in the confines of those walls. He remembered  
laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, tears running down his face as he thought of the many  
holidays Mickey had spent alone while he was locked up. He cried for Mickey’s loneliness and  
isolation, but mostly it was the guilt that did him in. Mickey didn’t have to be alone, that was Ian’s  
doing. He should’ve visited. He should have been there. He should have waited.

“You alright?” Lip asked noticing the tears building in the corner of his brother’s eyes.

Ian shook his head as if he was shaking out the thoughts and nodded, “Yeah.”

“New phone,” Lip offered handing Ian a burner, “Theo took you off his plan, so I got you this  
one.”

“Thanks, Lip,” Ian said taking the phone and shoving it into his pocket. He cleared his through  
briefly, “So have you, uh… seen Mickey around?”

“Shit,” Lip groaned, “We’re not fucking doing this again, are we?”

“Hope so,” Ian replied earnestly.

“And to answer your question -no, haven't run into that motherfucker, which I’m glad for, because  
he probably would’ve tried to kick my ass. Sure he’s still pissed about that night at the Alibi,” Lip  
reminded Ian.

“Yeah, probably good you haven’t run into him,” Ian agreed with a smirk bumping Lip hard with  
his hip, earning a quick and playful shove from his brother, “Oh it’s gonna be like that, huh?” Ian  
laughed as Lip began to jog away.

He relished in the feeling of the cold air freshening his face as he ran after his brother. In the past,  
he would have complained about the cold; admonished long Chicago winters. Not today, not  
anymore. Today the air was purifying him and welcoming him home.  
It wasn’t as refreshing, however, settling into his new space. Lip’s couch wasn’t even full size.

When Ian tried to lay on it and test it out he realized his legs hung over the edge by about a foot.  
“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his forehead.

“Gonna be ok for you, princess?” Lip asked slinging his backpack over his shoulders.

“It’s great,” Ian lied, “Thanks.”

Lip just smiled, I’ll see you later, ok? Got shit to do. Extra key is on the counter.”

“Alright. See ya.” Ian said watching his brother leave. It was surreal being there. He never  
expected to be rooming with Lip again, it felt like devolution to be honest, but it didn’t make him  
any less grateful for his brother’s hospitality.

Ian pulled his wallet and phone out of his pockets and readied himself to make the call. The  
business card he had extracted from a hidden slot, trembling between his fingers as he waited for  
an answer.

“This is Joyce,” A voice greeted.

“Hi, Joyce. Um, this is Ian Gallagher, your husband gave me your card a few months back, said  
you may be interested in representing me.”

All he heard on the other end of the line was a laugh that leaned more towards actually being  
cackle than a gracious giggle. “Are you serious?” She blurted when she caught her breath.

“Excuse me?” Ian asked confused.

“Honey, I represent people who have a chance of getting booked. You have no shot,” She  
snarked.

“But your husband said…” Ian began feeling his face grow hot, anxiety pulsing in his temples,  
shaking his legs.

“That was when you were something, sweetie. You know…other than a joke. I can’t afford to  
have someone with your reputation on my books. I worked too hard to build my company to  
represent the next Lindsay Lohan or Amanda Bynes. You get what I’m saying, right?”

“Yeah,” Ian replied, too numb to say anything else.

“Best of luck to you,” She clucked, the line clicking dead immediately after.

“Fuck,” Ian groaned feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. He leaned his head back  
on the sofa and closed his eyes trying to remember how to breathe properly. After a few deep  
inhales and long exhales, he began channeling some of the mantras he learned in Synergy.

He took another moment, before opening his eyes and looking down at his phone.  
4:30. Still Thursday. He’d still be there. He knew he would.

He shoved things back in his pocket, pulled on his coat and made his way back out into the cold.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Body

“Whose party is this again?” Mickey asked as he watched out the uber window as gaggles of  
people crowded the city sidewalks making their way into bars, restaurants and clubs. It was  
Saturday night and the city was alive.

Jake sighed, “I’ve told you like a million times. Pay attention, dummy. Dominic and Tony. We  
went to their fucking engagement party last month.”

“Ah, yeah,” Mickey recalled, “Don’t know why they’re having a bachelor party if they’re gonna  
be together for it. Aren’t you supposed to get wasted and fuck strippers or some shit?”

The Uber driver stifled a laugh, looking at Mickey in the rear view mirror and raising his eyebrows  
in agreement. Mickey smiled at the confirmation.

“See, this guy knows what I’m talking about,” Mickey informed Jake grinning at his boyfriend  
smugly and kissing the hand he was holding.

Jake rolled his eyes, “They’re getting married, Mickey. They’re not trying to fuck other people.  
Kinda the whole point.”

“Eh, it’s just a piece of paper,” Mickey scoffed, shrugging his shoulders.

“You don’t want to get married?” Jake croaked, surprised.

“You askin?” Mickey crinkled his nose and raised his eyebrows at Jake like he was fucking nuts.

“No, really. You never thought about it?” Jake asked obviously not letting the subject die.

“No,” Mickey lied. He had though. There was a time where he thought he’d be going down to the  
courthouse in tuxes with a certain redhead like a couple of old queens, but that was a million years  
ago.

“Cynical guy,” Jake tsked.

“Remember how I told you I was forced into marrying some Russian prostitute that got herself  
knocked up?” Mickey whispered harshly, low enough that the driver couldn’t hear.

“How could I forget that?” Jake said smoothing his thumb over the top of Mickey’s hand tenderly.

He couldn’t even imagine what Mickey had gone through back then.

“Yeah, that’ll make a motherfucker cynical, Jake” Mickey spat.

“Fair enough,” his boyfriend conceded as the uber pulled up to the club.

“No shit,” Mickey groused as they climbed out of the car, “We’re not fucking going here, are  
we?”

“That’s why the car dropped us here, babe,” Jake chuckled patting Mickey on the back, “Can’t be  
the first time that you were in a gay club. Where’d you think we were going to go Candyland?  
They’re gay.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey snapped at Jake for bringing up the now notorious spot. He’d been doing that  
a lot lately. Little jabs like that. Mickey idly wondered if it was because Ian was due to get out  
soon. It’s not like he talked about it a lot, but he knew that Jake had been keeping track cause he  
asked him bi-weekly if he’d heard from Ian. He hadn’t. Why would he?

He followed Jake into the White Swallow, thinking that he was having the most wicked case of  
déjà vu ever. Nothing looked different; same furniture, same light fixtures, same everything.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he tried to keep his mind from spiraling but It was too  
fucking weird being back there. Memories of gold shorts, watching, protecting, seething, spinning,  
the backroom, the loft parties all swirled through his mind as the lights strobed and changed color  
around him. He needed a drink. He practically dragged Jake, who was busy scouting out the  
scene for his friends, to the bar. “Jack and Orange and a Vodka Tonic,” Mickey spouted off to the  
silver sequined bartender.

“Jack and Orange?” The bartender questioned giving Mickey a disgusted look.

“Did I fucking slur my words, Moe?” Mickey snapped.

The guy looked at him confused and said, “My name’s Tim.”

“Don’t give a fuck,” Mickey responded agitated. He didn’t wanna fucking be here.

“Chill, babe,” Jake whispered nudging Mickey in the ribs and smiling brightly at the group of  
about a half dozen guys that had just approached them. “Hey, you guys remember my boyfriend,  
Mickey, right?” Jake said wrapping his arm around Mickey’s waist. “Mick, Dom and Tony the  
grooms,” Jake’s smile got bigger, his excitement for his friends evident, “Greg, Leo and Jason.”

“Nice to see you again, Mickey,” Tony said shaking Mickey’s hand, “This asshole don’t stop  
talking about you at work. All day it’s Mickey this, Mickey that.”

Jake blushed slightly and Mickey remembered that Tony was a fellow cop. “How could I stop  
talking about him, how hot is he?” Jake cooed kissing Mickey’s cheek.

“Remember when we used to be like that, Tony?” Dom asked playfully wrapping his arm around  
his fiance’s shoulder, “Young, dumb, in love.”

“Who are you calling dumb?” Jake asked with a laugh. Mickey was more stuck on ‘in love.’

“I’d hope you guys are still like that,” Leo laughed, “Since you’re getting hitched next month.”

“We love each other enough,” Dom teased kissing Tony gently on his lips.

This shit was too fuckin’ gay for Mickey. It was a big gay orgy inside of another big gay orgy. He  
was glad when his drink was slid across the bar top to him. He immediately started to drain the  
glass. He decided that he needed to get wasted. That would make the whole scene more palatable.

“Can we get 7 shots of tequila, Tim?” Jake asked the bartender politely. Of course he fucking  
remembered his name.

“Make them doubles,” Jason called out. “We’re celebrating!”

Mickey forced a tight lipped grin and then chugged his drink even quicker.

One Jack and Orange and three double shots of Tequila later and Mickey was feeling no pain. He  
wasn’t feeling much at all. He was sitting at the table in the VIP section staring off into the  
distance, just enjoying the feeling of not being on the planet anymore. He wasn’t at the White  
Swallow , the place that harbored so many confusing feelings for him. He was in his own universe  
surrounded by blinking stars and pulsing music. Occasionally he’d feel a gravitational pull  
towards Jake, laying a sloppy kiss on his boyfriend’s mouth, much to the other man’s delight. Jake  
loved PDAs. His cop boyfriend, king of the 720. He figured the more he kept his hands and  
mouth on Jake, the less the social butterfly would expect his reclusive ass to converse with the rest  
of the guys at the table.

“Can I get you another?” Leo asked gesturing to Mickey’s empty glass, pulling him back to Earth,  
back to the White Swallow.

“He’s good,” Jake answered for him. Mickey grunted his disapproval but didn’t argue. He was  
still on parole, something that Jake never really let him forget. He always towed the line of 'too  
much' with Mickey, but never let him move past it. As annoying as it was, Mickey was grateful.  
He never wanted to go back in.

Mickey watched as the tall, dark dancer that had been gyrating on the small podium at the head of  
the VIP stepped down. Mickey rubbed his nose with his knuckle and tried not to glance at the  
guy’s bubble butt as he passed by the table.

“You can look at dancers,” Jake teased catching Mickey’s eyes. “I’m secure enough to handle it.”  
He kissed Mickey’s blushing cheek and rested a hand high on Mickey’s thigh, giving his  
boyfriend a naughty smirk. “Or I could get mad, and wreck you tonight,” He whispered hotly in  
Mickey’s ear. Mickey raised his eyebrows.

“That sounds like a better option, get pissed,” He whispered back with a laugh, turning his head to  
catch Jake’s lips and give him a deep kiss that had the other men at the table shifting and staring.

“You guys gotta stop that,” Jason chided them, “Getting all these old dudes worked up.”  
Jake laughed into Mickey’s mouth.

“Speaking of worked up, holy shit, look at Antonio Sabato Jr.’s replacement,” Greg stated, mouth  
practically hanging open as he watched the man take the spot of the dancer that went off duty.  
Jake and Mickey were still busy making out, Jake taking full advantage of the inhibitions the  
alcohol had stripped away from Mickey.

“Damn, Red has moves too,” Tony said with an approving grin, “Baby, give me a few bucks. I  
want to pretend like I’m sticking it down his little shorts, but really try to brush against his cock.”

Dom grunted, rolled his eyes and handed his fiancé the bills, “You’re real romantic, asshole.”

“You know you love me,” Tony said with a grin, kissing the gruff man quickly before making his  
way a over to the dancer.

“He is really fuckin’ hot,” Dom said as he watched his fiancé practically drool over the man who  
was giving him a suggestive grin.

Jake pulled away from Mickey to see who all the fuss was about, and couldn’t believe his eyes. It  
couldn’t be him. No way. “Is that…?” He began, turning to face his boyfriend who looked like he  
saw a very pale, redheaded ghost.

“Yeah,” Mickey breathed eyes fixed on Ian who was moving his hips from side to side while  
raising his arms over his head, as Tony pushed more cash into his black, leather looking booty  
shorts.

“You know the guy?” Greg asked Jake eagerly, “Maybe you can set me up?”

“He’s Mickey’s ex,” Jake responded, “Up to Mick if he wants to set you up.” He looked over at  
his boyfriend whose eyes were transfixed on Ian’s body as it moved effortlessly to the music.

Mickey couldn’t peel his eyes off of Ian. He knew he should, but he couldn’t. If he thought he had  
déjà vu before, he realized it was nothing compared to what his mind was doing now. Sure, his  
shorts were different and he wasn’t wearing that dumbass tie, but his moves were the same, and  
his body.. that hadn’t changed either; long, lean, and cut with those defined abs and muscular  
arms. He wondered if he was working out in the mental hospital. Do people work out at that kinda  
place? Like he had in jail? Only Ian could go away for two months at the lowest of lows and  
come out looking star-kissed and moony.

“So, you gonna set Greg up with Ian?” Jake questioned draping his arm around Mickey’s  
shoulders, knocking him out of his daze.

“Uh, if you think he could handle him,” Mickey replied dumbly, looking back in his exboyfriend’s direction.

“He’s a lot to handle, huh?” Greg asked his eyes lighting up at the prospect.

“Doesn’t mean it like that,” Jake snapped at his friend. He dropped his voice and leaned over  
towards Greg, hoping that Mickey wouldn’t hear, “he’s fucking crazy. Like, legit crazy.” He  
didn’t have to worry about Mickey hearing, because he was back in the galaxy, this time orbiting  
around Planet Ian.

“I gotta..” Mickey started to shift in his seat, as if he was going to get up, but Jake grabbed his  
hand quickly.

“Wait, ok,” Jake ordered almost desperately, “Give Tony a minute... It’s his night and he’s  
obviously enjoying himself." Tony was still standing in front of Ian. The dancer would  
occasionally lean down so Tony could whisper something in his ear and he would laugh airily at  
Tony’s comments.

Mickey nodded.

“He’s pretty. I’ll give him that,” Jake said partially to himself, sorta to Mickey, “Like really  
fucking pretty.”

Mickey didn’t do anything but bite his lip and look into Jake’s blue eyes.

“Think he’s prettier than me?” Jake asked trying to hide the worry in his eyes, and come off fun  
and flirty. It didn’t work.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said rolling his eyes and resting his hand on Jake’s thigh. Jake noticed that  
Mickey didn’t answer.

“I’m gonna go say hey..” Mickey began standing up, but as soon as he was ready to move he saw  
big, fat Marty, Ian’s old boss, come up to the little podium Ian was dancing on and whisper  
something to him. Ian gave Tony an apologetic grin and jumped down to follow Marty to the  
private rooms. He was moving further away and Mickey felt drawn to follow, but knew he  
couldn't. Ian disappeared seemingly as quickly as he appeared leaving Mickey standing in a  
drunk, confused, state of shock. “Was he even…”

“He was really here,” Jake grimaced, pulling his boyfriend back down into his chair.

“Sorry,” Mickey muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, “Just took me by  
surprise, you know, wasn’t expecting that.”

Jake nodded his understanding and bit his lip.

Mickey leaned forward and nipped at his boyfriend’s bottom lip, knowing he had some reassuring  
to do.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Twenty-Five: Stupid

As the night dragged on, Mickey found himself glancing periodically at the podium Ian had  
danced on to check if he had made his way back. Every time he looked and didn't see the redhead  
he felt a pang of disappointment. Ian's unexpected appearance had a sobering effect on Mickey  
and he decided, in order to get through the night, he needed more alcohol.

"Gotta pee," He told Jake, kissing his cheek quickly before standing up to head towards the  
bathroom. He pushed his way through the crowded VIP, keeping his eyes peeled for Ian. He was  
nowhere to be found. Mickey walked to the edge of the balcony that overlooked the main floor  
and saw Ian's body rolling form drawing the attention of the room from the featured center  
podium.

He stood there for a moment just watching that familiar body as it moved.

Mickey racked his brain to figure out why it felt different seeing Ian tonight than it had the other  
nights he'd see him since he got out of lockup. The effervescent, glowing smile Ian flashed at a  
patron, flicked on the light switch in Mickey's mind, illuminating the reasons, providing the  
answers.

Ian looked happy. He looked healthy. He was moving to the music like a man that was free; free  
of a relationship he should've never been in, of a drug that tried to consume him, of the pressures  
that almost broke him. He was free and he was beautiful.

He was that impish, sensitive, strong as hell guy that Mickey grew up with. He was Ian. He was  
the dugout, the Kash and Grab, the house on North Wallace Street, and that single bed. He was  
the Alibi, alleyways, each poster still hanging on Mickey's bedroom walls, and every fucking  
street of the South Side. He was everything.

"Fuck," Mickey mumbled to himself turning away from the balcony feeling like if he kept staring,  
Ian's glow would blind him. He grabbed two test tube shots of some blue shit off a palate a shot  
boy was walking around with. He threw the guy a $20 and took the shots down in rapid  
succession.

"You gave me too much," the guy informed him handing Mickey another shot. Mickey knew he  
shouldn't take it, but that didn't stop him. He tilted his head back and drained the tube of the sickly  
sweet liquid, burping loudly upon completion, causing the guys around him to shot him disgusted  
looks. He shrugged and made his way to the bathroom.

When he finally got back to Jake and the rest of the party, the shots he had taken had moved into  
his head causing everything to feel surreal and blurry.

"Run into anyone?" Jake inquired standing up to wrap his arms around Mickey's waist.

Mickey shook his head 'no' realizing that the movement made it obvious that he head was filled  
with rocks and lead. It just felt so heavy. He rested it on Jake's shoulder, hoping to transfer some  
of the weight off of his neck.

"Fuck, you're wasted, man," Jake sighed pulling Mickey closer. Mickey picked his head up and  
smiled.

"Not too wasted," Mickey informed him with a laugh.

"Oh c'mon, you're whiskey dick level," Jake teased, "what am I gonna do with you?"

"What do you wanna do with me?" Mickey flirted.

"Dance with you?" Jake responded pressing his lips hotly against Mickey's.

"Here?" Mickey asked between kisses.

"We could, but downstairs on the dance floor would probably be better."

"Hmm, ok," Mickey responded as Jake grabbed his hand and led him towards the elevator.

"No way we're fucking with the steps with your drunk ass," Jake muttered as he hit the button for  
the elevator and waited for the doors to open. Mickey just leaned his full back against Jake's chest,  
not wanting to admit that he could hardly stand.

The short ride in the elevator made Mickey feel like he left his head up on the balcony, but he  
decided that you hardly need a head when you have feet, so he allowed Jake to guide him deep  
onto the dance floor and wrap himself behind Mickey beginning to grind into his ass, octopus  
hands feeling around his body. The music was pulsing so intensely that if Mickey still had a head,  
he's pretty sure it would explode. He didn't know if he was just standing there letting Jake move  
on him, or pushing back against him but either way it felt good.

"Hi," he said dumbly as Jake turned him around and wrapped his arms around Mickey's neck,  
leaning into kiss him passionately. Mickey eagerly reciprocated, allowing Jake's tongue full access  
to his mouth and making his way around Jake's.

He opened his eyes to see streams of colors, flashes of light and Ian. He saw Ian. He wasn't  
dancing like he had been so many years ago? weeks ago? Hours ago? Minutes ago? He wasn't  
sure, but he wasn't dancing. He was just standing there, on a podium, like a statue. Not moving.  
He wasn't really there. He couldn't be, because he was just standing there constructed of concrete,  
not dancing like he was supposed to be. So he kept kissing Jake, his eyes still open waiting for the  
statue of Ian to disappear, or crumble, or smash into a million pieces. From the solemn look on his  
face, it looked like destruction was imminent. But then he moved. Not dancing, but walking.  
Walking towards him and all of a sudden he wasn't a statue anymore. He was there, just like  
Mickey remembered him. Mickey peeled his lips off of Jake's and they both turned to look at Ian,  
lips puffy and raw from their kisses.

"Mickey," Ian breathed, "Hi."

"Hi," Mickey responded, "you're out?"

"I'm out," Ian confirmed, "you're drunk."

"He's wasted," Jake stated keeping his arms wrapped protectively around Mickey's waist, "and  
I'm still Jake."

Ian nodded, "I'm sorry about all that bullshit at the Alibi. Things were pretty fucked, not sure if  
Mickey told you..." Ian began only to be cut off by Jake.

"He tells me everything," Jake snarked quickly.

Ian just stood there nervously biting his lip and nodded his head in understanding.

"You didn't call me when you got out. Thought you'd call, just to let me know you were ok or  
whatever," Mickey slurred.

"Uh, when Theo and I broke up he cancelled my phone plan, so I had to get a new one and lost  
all my contacts," Ian confessed. "Gimme your phone, I'll put my new number in."

Mickey reached for his phone but Jake intercepted intertwining his fingers with Mickey's. "He  
doesn't need your number, man," Jake said coldly.

Ian tried to keep his cool, "seemed like he wanted it though."

"He doesn't need your number, Ian," Jake repeated.

"You think he won't find me without it?" Ian asked, immediately angry at himself for snapping,

"Look, I'm sorry. I know, we shouldn't... I'm sorry." He turned to walk back to the podium, not  
wanting to be an asshole, or selfish, or fucking disrespect Mickey's boyfriend right in front of his  
face.

"Ian," Mickey's voice called out.

Ian turned around just in time to catch the burner phone that Mickey had tossed to him.

"Need your number."

Chapter Twenty-Six: War

Mickey woke up with a start as his body shook vigorously.

“What the fuck?” He growled pushing Jake’s hands off of him.

“I’ve been trying to wake your ass up for the last ten minutes,” Jake complained with a huff,  
“Next up was a fucking bucket of ice water.”

“Shit,” Mickey said shaking his banging head and wiping the sleep from eyes, “What time is it?”

“6:30am. Figured you’d want to shower and get ready before work. You smell like puke and  
sweat, not sure the National Association of Black Engineers will enjoy that stench with their  
brunch this morning.” Jake said with a sigh, laying back on the bed and pulling the covers around  
his bare torso.

“I puked?” Mickey asked moving his tongue around his own mouth for the answer. He definitely  
puked.

“Several times,” Jake said with a click.

“Hmm. Feel like I could again,” Mickey stated feeling a familiar flipping in his stomach. He  
reached for a glass of water that was sitting on Jake’s bedside table to try to settle his nausea.

“Try actually getting it in the toilet this time. Don’t feel like cleaning it off my floors again.”

“Fuck, you had to do that?” Mickey asked his cheeks tinting pink, “Sorry. Drank too much.”

“Clearly,” Jake responded with a sarcastic laugh, “Were you too wasted to remember asking for  
Ian’s number, too? Gonna claim you blacked out and don’t remember that shit.”

“Nah, I remember that shit just fine,” Mickey responded looking straight into Jake’s eyes, not  
flinching, not fazed. “Just the end of the night that’s blurry I guess. You take advantage of me?”

“You fucking wish,” Jake sneered, turning on his side, facing away from Mickey, clearly in a snit.

“You pissed at me?” Mickey asked completely obtuse as to why Jake would be giving him such a  
bitchy attitude.

Jake turned to face Mickey now, his eyes dark and angry. “You just straight up admitted that you  
remember asking your EX-BOYFRIEND for his number, after I told him that you didn’t fucking  
need it,” he spat.

“Ah, yeah. I figured I was the one that should’ve been mad about that shit, not you,” Mickey  
retorted taking another sip of his water, “Was gonna chalk it up to you momentarily losin’ your  
shit and becomin’ some jealous bitch, but if you wanna go there, we can fuckin’ go there.” He  
thumbed at his nose, irritated, and looked at Jake; a challenge.

“Yeah, let’s fucking go there,” Jake shouted springing up in bed and beginning to gesticulate as he  
spoke, “Your ex-boyfriend, who practically PISSED on you in public in front of me to mark his  
fucking territory, who cheated on his fucking fiancé with you, who you were eye fucking the  
whole time he was dancing last night, asks you for your number and you can’t understand why  
the FUCK I wouldn’t want you to give it to him?”

“You said you didn’t give a shit if I looked at dancers. Said you were secure enough to handle it,”  
Mickey reminded him, eyebrows raised, the look on his face smug and full of reason.

“Seriously?” Jake cried, “That’s what you fucking got from everything I just said? I think it’s a  
little different with Ian. The history makes it different don’t you think?”

Mickey shrugged and looked down at his foot that was beginning to tap from the annoyance. He  
was trying to keep calm, but he could feel his hackles rising.

“You have nothing to say? Really?” Jake’s face was turning redder as he grew more pissed off by  
the minute.

“No, I got shit to say,” Mickey stated flatly.

“So say it,” Jake demanded.

“You sure you wanna hear it?” Mickey dared.

Jake rolled his eyes, “Go.”

Mickey flicked up his eyebrows once more and licked his lips as if in preparation. “K. You ain’t  
my wife, you ain’t my mother, you ain’t my father, you ain’t shit. You understand? You’re not  
gonna tell me who I can and can’t talk to. You pull that shit and you’re not gonna like the  
outcome.”

Jake stared at him wide eyed for a minute, not believing how fucking harsh he was being. He had  
seen glimmers and glints of this Mickey, but there was always something at least partially playful  
behind it. There was nothing teasing or light about this. There was nothing behind his eyes. Not  
anger, not love. Nothing, “That a threat?” Jake asked slowly.

Mickey shrugged but didn’t respond. He was way too hungover to put up with any type of drama,  
let alone this dumb shit.

“I’m not shit?” Jake questioned his anger clearly giving way to hurt as his breath wavered and  
undulated.

“About this.. no you ain’t shit,” Mickey warned, “Don’t mean I don’t care about you. But,  
nobody’s gonna tell me how to live my life, man. I was in prison for long enough having fucking  
cops telling me what to do, what to eat, who to be. Ain’t gonna do it out here.”

“Do you want to be with him?” Jake breathed out, afraid of the answer.

“I’m with you,” Mickey said resting his hand lightly on Jake’s knee.

“I know you’re with me, but do you want to be with him?” Jake asked slowly, the whites around  
his blue eyes beginning to tinge red.

“I want to be with you, when you’re not acting like a fucking dickhead,” Mickey responded,  
giving him a half grin.

“So what if I asked you nicely. Not told you, asked you, not to contact him? To cut him out of  
your life… would you do that for me?” Jake ventured, resting his hand on top of Mickey’s.

“Because I was really fucking cool about everything, Mick. Really cool, but I saw the way you  
looked at him last night and… I can’t, I can’t deal with that.”

“Don’t trust me to keep it in my pants, huh? I’m a lotta things, Jake. But I ain’t a cheater,” Mickey  
huffed, pulling his hand back and rubbing his fingers against his eyebrows, trying to soothe his  
raging headache.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I don’t trust him,” Jake admitted.

Mickey rolled his eyes at the cliché and punched out a quick laugh, “Really? That’s some tired  
shit.”

“I’m serious,” Jake’s voice was small. Way smaller than his frame, “I can’t deal with it. I know  
what I can handle, and I can’t… handle that. So, I need you to choose.”

“Fuckin’ ultimatum, huh?” Mickey snarked sucking his teeth in exasperation.

Jake shrugged, “I don’t know what it is, but think about it, ok? We can talk about it another time.  
Just know, I’m not comfortable with you having any relationship with Ian. Romantic or otherwise.  
I don’t trust him. I don’t like him, and I’m not sure I like you that much when you’re around him.”

“That all?” Mickey asked, very much over the conversation.

Jake nodded somberly.

“Good,” Mickey said, “Brought all my shit here so I’m just gonna jump in the shower then split.”

“Alright,” Jake replied. “Will you call me later?”

“Yeah, I’ll call you later,” Mickey muttered as he headed towards Jake’s bathroom.

As soon as he closed the door behind him he pressed his forehead against the thin, knotted wood.

“Fuck,” He breathed, giving himself a few moments to gather up his emotions before stripping off  
his clothes. He stood in front of the full length mirror and assessed what he saw. He looked tired  
and worn, with sallow skin and weary eyes. Was he regressing? Had he spent all that time moving  
forward only to backslide and start the cycle once again? He raised his fingers up to run them over  
the words scrolled over his heart. He was literally a marked man.

*

“Mick?” An eager voice came over the line midway through the first ring.

“Yeah,” Mickey responded, “How’d you know?

“Hoping I guess… but also, not many people have this number yet,” Ian said with an airy laugh.

Mickey grinned, “Yet, huh? Thinking of spreading it around? Writing it on the bathroom stall at  
The White Swallow?”

That laugh again, “Fuck off,” he chuckled.

Mickey tried to recall if Ian had laughed like that in the time they’d spent together between his  
release and Ian’s treatment. He hadn’t. They had light hearted moments, but there was always the  
cloak of darkness covering them. They were shrouded by Theo, drugs, anger, and hurt. They  
were desperately grabbing at one another, while simultaneously pushing away; frantic to make  
sense of the present, to find space, while bleeding from the past.

They were masked by the worst of themselves, a sick reminder of how bad they could be. Ian  
wasn’t strong enough to handle himself let alone anything more, and Mickey wasn’t willing to be  
sturdy enough for the both of them, not anymore. He knew he deserved someone to carry his  
burdens, too, and Ian had been too weak.

“Thinking of giving celibacy a shot anyway,” Ian continued. Mickey could almost see his smile.

“Ah, fuck off, Gallagher. You know that ain’t gonna happen,” Mickey retorted, his own grin  
playing on his lips.

“You offering something?” Ian flirted, clearing his throat almost as soon as the words came out,

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… I know, you’ve got…”

“I got a headache is what I got,” Mickey spat out quickly. He wasn’t sure if he was referring to his  
literal headache or the fight that he had with Jake earlier that morning.

Ian hummed not knowing how to respond. The line was silent for what felt like minutes, but was  
probably close to seconds, “Things aren’t going well?”

“Not sure,” Mickey admitted, “Don’t really wanna talk to you about it though…”

“I understand,” Ian said quietly, “I mean, you guys looked happy...”

“What part of don’t want to talk about it don’t you understand, fucker?” Mickey groaned, too tired  
put up too much more of an fight.

“There’s a lot of stuff I want to talk to you about, though,” Ian’s voice was still soft, “Shit that  
came up in therapy, things I need you to know. I’d regret if I didn’t at least try…”

“Ian, I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I can’t do this right now, ok? I was just  
calling to see how you were doing. You alright?” Mickey asked, too nervous, confused, worn  
down, and worked up to hear what else Ian wanted to say.

“I’m alright,” Ian confirmed.

“Good. I’ll call you another time, ok? We’ll talk. You’ll talk, I’ll listen. Whatever.”

“Yeah, ok Mick,” Ian responded, his voice heavier than it had been earlier, weighted down with  
doubt. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Throw

Mickey had never broken up with anyone. He knew what NOT to do. Ian had taught him that. He  
wouldn’t do that shit to Jake. He just… couldn’t do it, couldn’t be with someone that would give  
him an ultimatum like that. It was hardly about Ian. Well, maybe it was sort of about Ian, but it  
was more about Mickey. It was about independence, freedom, reverence.

Mickey had vowed to take control of his life, find his happiness, allow himself to live on his terms.  
When he was in lock up and got that call that Terry died, it was then that he made a promise to not  
live for anyone but himself; that it was ok to be selfish because he was somebody, too. He was  
bones, blood, flesh, heart and soul. He was alive and he deserved to live.

Terry had tried to break him. He spent his whole fucking life trying to destroy him. Ian had  
shattered him, too. He knew he couldn’t deny that. He’d never be that destructible again, not  
because he had turned hard, or cold, but because in jail he had accepted himself and built up his  
core until it was made of steel. Nothing would break him because he was unbreakable now. If he  
needed to he would turn inward and draw his strength, survive, thrive, do more than just exist.  
He had grown up with the law of the streets branded into his brain. Respect. Love was fleeting,  
malleable and temperamental, but respect, that was the principle that he’d never sacrifice again.  
Jake didn’t respect him the way he needed to be respected. He made that clear when he gave him  
that ultimatum. He didn’t respect his past that was wrapped up with Ian, or the relationship that  
had been more pivotal than any other in his life. He didn’t respect the feelings and nostalgia that  
went along with that, the responsibility. He didn’t respect that Mickey was loyal and trustworthy  
and wouldn’t have fucking cheated on him. He didn’t respect Mickey to make decisions for  
himself in regards to who he could fucking spend his time with. He didn’t respect his autonomy.

So, he couldn’t do it anymore.

He wondered if maybe he was fucked up or too far gone, but in the end that shit didn’t matter. He  
knew what he wanted and what he didn’t want and he didn’t want Jake. Not like this.

“Have a feeling you made your decision,” Jake began steeling himself for the conversation they  
were about to have.

“Wouldn’t have had to make a decision if some squirmy motherfucker didn’t push the shit,”  
Mickey stated his tone half apologetic, half pointed a small grin on his lips.

“So this is it?” Jake breathed. He had already known. He knew as soon as he saw the way Mickey  
had looked at Ian. He never looked at him like that. He knew. It’s probably why he pushed.

Mickey nodded, “This is it.”

“Ok,” Jake conceded. He didn’t really have tears left. He had cried them out over the past few  
days, in preparation. “You gonna be with him?” He asked softly, wondering why he was trying to  
torture himself.

Mickey shrugged, “I honestly dunno.”

“I think you always have been with him,” Jake responded, face sad but inquisitive.

“Nah, it’s not like that,” Mickey asserted, “You weren’t, like, a rebound or some shit. It had been  
years, you know? It’s not like that.”

Jake just nodded his response.

“Don’t know what else to say,” Mickey admitted biting his lip nervously. “Thanks?”

Jake scoffed and let out a hallow laugh, “Thanks?”

“I’m not sure,” Mickey relented uncomfortably. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Hope not,” Jake said giving him a small smile, “It’d probably mean I was arresting your ass.”

Mickey smiled back and laughed a bit, “Yeah, that wouldn’t be good.”

“I’m telling you, if I get a call and I find you and that asshole beating the shit out of each other or  
some shit, I’m going to arrest you both. I won’t turn a blind eye again.” Jake sounded like he was  
serious, but Mickey saw a hint of familiar playfulness in his eyes. He reached over and rubbed  
Jake’s neck a little before standing up and heading towards the door.

“Hey Mickey,” Jake called before he could exit.

Mickey turned back and waited for what was going to say next.

“Take care of yourself.”

*

Ian was sure that as soon as he had gotten the call from Mickey he had started running. ‘Wanna  
meet so I can listen to the shit you gotta say, or whatever?’ he had asked in that typical off-handed  
Mickey fashion.

It was late and dark, but he was hitting the pavement, one foot in front of the other, fast.  
Breathless. Cold air numbing his lungs, whipping his face. He hit a few ice patches and nearly lost  
his balance, but kept pushing, pumping his arms, sweeping past a few random people still walking  
on the mostly empty sidewalks.

He should have probably jumped on the El, it would have been quicker, but he had to feel this, do  
this. Center himself and center gravity. With every step was repentance and atonement. He needed  
to run, arrive, stand, reciprocate, wait, and worry.

And there he was, leaning against the old chain link fence, smoking a cigarette eyebrows raised in  
amusement at the sight of the winded Ian, “You ran over here?”

“Needed some air,” Ian responded giving him a grin.

Mickey didn’t know why, maybe it was the memories of this place, the smile on Ian’s face or the  
mess of windblown red hair on top of his head, but he found himself saying “C’mere, you idiot,”  
and wrapping Ian in a hug. He reached up to ruffle that red hair even further as Ian breathed into  
his neck, warmth tickling him where a scarf should be, “You look healthy.”

“You look cold,” Ian replied, pulling his face out of the crook in Mickey’s neck and rubbing his  
hands up and down Mickey’s arms trying to create some additional warmth from the friction.

“Cold as tits out here,” Mickey agreed dancing from side to side a bit, “Can you still jump it?”

“Me,” Ian laughed, “I’m more worried about you, pushing 30 soon.” He grabbed onto the fence  
and pulled himself up over it, grinning at Mickey through the links, “You coming, old man?”

Mickey took one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground, tossed his backpack  
over the fence to Ian and hauled himself to the other side with ease. He smirked at Ian with a bit of  
pride. “Guess we’re not too old, huh?”

“Guess not,” Ian chortled beginning to walk across the field that wasn’t full of the luscious green  
grass of the summer, but the brown dirt and spotty snow of the winter, “Know what’s fucked up?”

“Hmm?” Mickey asked assessing Ian’s profile carefully waiting for his response.

“Still got nowhere to go,” Ian said looking at Mickey with a grin, “Fucking 10 years later and  
we’re back to living with our brothers.”

“You’re living with Lip?” Mickey groaned taking a seat on the cold metal bench of the dugout. It  
was more dilapidated that it had been in the past, but other than that, still standing. He reached into  
his backpack and pulled out two blankets.

“Shit, you came prepared,” Ian said appreciatively wrapping one of the blankets around himself  
and sitting down next to Mickey.

“You ain’t the only boy scout, Gallagher,” Mickey joked pulling the blanket around his shoulders  
like a cape and hugging it close to him. “Lip?”

“Yeah, don’t got any money, so I’m crashing on his couch for a while, til I can save up to get my  
own apartment or something,” Ian responded drawing his knees to his chest and leaning his head  
back against the flimsy wood. He stared forward at the field, trying to remember the last time they  
were there.

“You should make pretty good money at the club, right?”

“Right,” Ian nodded, “Not my first choice of things to do, you know, but the money’s good and  
quick. Don’t have a lot of other options.”

“You miss your fancy car and the penthouse at the Carlton,” Mickey asked teasingly, putting a  
flourish of emphasis on the hotel’s name.

“Be fucking lying if I said I didn’t,” Ian responded looking at Mickey with a grin, “How nice was  
that car, man?”

“Pretty fucking nice,” Mickey agreed. “Papers said he broke up with you…”

“Eh, not really, that was the spin I guess. Not that it matters, but I ended it,” Ian stated.

“Matters to me,” Mickey began, but caught his tongue, “Just you know… that you made a choice  
that was right for you or whatever,” he continued trying to conceal his intention. He paused for a  
second and looked away from Ian, flicking his knuckle against his nose, “You miss him?”

“Sometimes, I mean, he was nice, but…” Ian began. He paused gathering his strength, pulling up  
his resolve, “it wasn’t right. He wasn’t… you.”

Mickey’s head snapped to look into Ian’s soft green eyes.

“Sorry,” Ian said quickly. “Not trying to disrespect your relationship or anything, just want you to  
know how I feel. Not gonna be selfish about it, it’s just… a lot of stuff came up at that place that I  
want you to know. I don’t have to go on if you don’t wanna hear it.”

“Tell me, you know, if you think it’s good for you or whatever,” Mickey said trying to play off his  
eagerness to hear what Ian had to say.

Ian licked his lips and nodded his head, “I’ll never forgive myself for not coming to visit you,  
Mick. It was fucking low, and you deserved so much better than that. Better than me,” He cleared  
his throat, the emotions begin to prickle in his eyes. He pushed forward, even though he wanted to  
shut off, because he owed Mickey the truth, the apologies, not that they’d ever be enough.

“I should’ve stood by you when I got my meds right. Knew I wanted to be with you, but it was  
too hard and I was too fucking weak.” It looked like admitting weakness physically hurt Ian, but  
he steeled himself and kept going, “I’m really ashamed I did that, think I was at the time, too. Just  
didn’t realize it.”

He knew he was rambling, but Mickey was listening so he kept going, “Knew it was way harder  
on you than me, but I was fucking selfish. Guess I started snorting that shit to numb it all. Met  
Theo and thought I could, you know, move on…”

Ian paused to bring the blanket up to his eyes and wipe away some of the tears that had started to  
fall, “Tried really fucking hard to move on,” He said half laughing, half crying, the wetness in his  
throat wheezing and intermingling with a bit of wry laughter, “What a fucking joke..”

Mickey didn’t respond. He was trying to digest the massive amount of emotion that Ian was  
pouring out. It was everything he had hoped Ian would say for years. He would lay in his cell,  
staring up at the ceiling, wondering if Ian ever thought of him, missed him like Mickey did. Day  
after day, passed with him worrying that Ian didn’t love him anymore. Had he ever loved him at  
all? He subconsciously wrapped himself up tighter in the blanket, needing to feel the warmth, the  
security.

“How could I move on from you?” Ian asked, almost as if he was desperate for answer. His eyes  
were pleading, his bottom lip quivering. “You’re every fucking piece of me. Every memory, every  
laugh, the tough shit, everything. How do I move past that?" He wiped his eyes again, “Hardest  
fucking part is that I know I don’t fucking deserve you. Fucked all of this up so bad, know I  
don’t.”

Mickey was biting his lip so hard, that he was sure he had drawn blood. He was willing himself  
not to fucking cry. He pulled back the tears that were threatening to fall with an unrelenting chant  
of ‘don’t, don’t, don’t.’ He was going to let Ian cry. It was his turn, not Mickey’s. Mickey didn’t  
want to give him another tear, he wanted to take Ian’s.

“You gonna say anything?” Ian asked practically imploring Mickey to do something, anything;  
Punch him, tell him to fuck off, roll his eyes, spit, something.

“You done?” Mickey asked quietly.

“Probably won’t ever be done apologizing for this shit,” Ian replied truthfully, "Mick, I really love  
you. Always have. I really fucking love you.”

“You done now,” Mickey asked again.

“Just said I’ll probably never be done…” Ian reminded him.

“Yeah neither will I,” Mickey admitted freeing his hands from his blanket and grabbing Ian’s face  
by his cheeks pulling him passionately towards his lips. He caught Ian’s breath in his mouth and  
breathed back into him, giving him life. Their tongues tangled and knotted with each other, not  
able to get close enough, wanting to be so near each other that they wouldn’t be satisfied if they  
passed through the skull.

Suddenly, it wasn't cold anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Love

"Where can we go?" Ian asked breathlessly reluctant to have pulled his lips off Mickey's, but he  
needed to be inside of him.

"Right here," Mickey responded, "wouldn't be the first time you railed my ass in this dugout,  
right?"

Ian shook his head slowly. "Don't want it like that... want it to be different tonight." He cupped his  
hand around Mickey's neck resting his thumb by his earlobe.

"You're not gonna say some corny ass shit like I'm gonna make love to you..." Mickey warned  
shifting on the bench.

"I'm dead ass going to make love to you," Ian said eyes so earnest that a shudder traveled up and  
down Mickey's spine.

"Dead ass, huh? So you're gonna murder my ass," Mickey joked trying to pull back on some of  
the intensity.

Ian didn't flinch and wrapped his other hand around Mickey's neck the same way the first was.

His expression was ardent, unwavering.

"We can go back to my house," Mickey breathed becoming too enthralled by Ian's ardor to put up  
an argument. "Just gotta be quiet, don't really wanna explain shit to Iggy right now." Mickey  
didn't actually know what the fuck was going on himself. He felt like HE needed an explanation.

Ian smiled and leaned in to press his lips against Mickey's full pout, "Gonna make it so good for  
you, I promise." With that he dropped his hands and haphazardly rolled up his blanket, shoving it  
into Mickey's backpack, then grabbing Mickey's so they could get to the Milkovich house as  
quick as fucking possible.

"Slow down, fucker, my legs are like half the length of yours," Mickey groused trying to keep up  
with Ian and his giraffe stride.

Ian just laughed and grabbed onto Mickey's hand pulling him along with him, much to the shorter  
guy's chagrin. "Could always carry you..." Ian suggested.

"Want me to break your fucking legs, asshole?" Mickey spat.

Ian smirked at Mickey and continued his pace.

"If you get all weird and shit it's gonna make me uncomfortable," Mickey alerted Ian as they made  
their way up the familiar steps that led up to Mickey's house.

"We've done it like this before," Ian reminded him as Mickey dropped his hand to open up the  
door. "Shit, so fucking crazy to be back here," Ian muttered softly as they entered the house.

"Never had to fuckin' define it beforehand," Mickey whispered, "Just kinda happened. You  
already ruined it by telling me what you were gonna do. Now I feel all... I don't know."

"Stop pouting," Ian said, shrugging his coat off as Mickey closed his bedroom door behind them.

"Want me to put on Boys II Men, light some candles?" Mickey asked leaning down to take off his  
boots and socks "Make it real nice so I can get my ass fucked romantically?"

"Hey," Ian said waking over to Mickey once he was naked. He grabbed Mickey's shoulders hard  
and gave him a little shake. "You gotta shut the fuck up. Seriously."

Mickey just huffed, rolled his eyes then allowed them to look over Ian's naked body, "Yeah, ok."

He conceded running his hand down that firm chest. "Shit" he sighed and moved his hand further  
down into the red curls just south of the cut V of Ian's hips so he could trace the base of his  
already hard, flawless cock with his pointer finger.

"Good," Ian said with a grin pulling at Mickey's thermal shirt so he'd lift his arms and allow it to  
come off. Ian didn't push for Mickey to take off his wife beater, but as he was unbuckling

Mickey's belt he was glad to see that the brunet had pulled it off.

Before Ian could pull down his jeans and boxer briefs Mickey had dropped to his knees ready to  
take Ian into his mouth.

"Uh uh," Ian said shaking his head and pulling Mickey up, "Wanna make it all about you." He  
leaned down to kiss Mickey slowly, allowing his tongue to explore Mickey's perfect mouth.

Mickey pulled back after a moment to lick and suck at the nape of Ian's neck, his mouth needing  
to taste the salt of Ian's skin. "But, you know I love sucking your cock," Mickey practically  
whined, tone muffled by skin.

Ian let out a giggle partially because he was ticklish, but mostly because he was giddy as fuck.

"Ok, ok," he made his way down to his knees and pulled Mickey's pants and boxer briefs down  
slowly, allowing Mickey's hard cock to spring free. Mickey stepped out of the garments and  
sighed as Ian took him into his mouth. He licked his lips and looked down at Ian bringing his dick  
in and out of his mouth, lips stretched tight around him, green eyes not looking away from  
Mickey's face.

Mickey fingered through Ian's red tresses as he watched him work his cock. It felt so fucking  
good. His knees were weak and tingly. "Ohhhh," he moaned, "feels really good." Ian continued  
to lick and suck, making sure to periodically clean Mickey's slit of the precum he was leaking.

Mickey began to feel like he may fall over the edge, so he tapped Ian's head a few times, causing  
the redhead to pull-off. "Gonna cum if you keep that up."

Ian licked his lips, not bothering to clean off his sticky chin before standing up and kissing Mickey  
onto the bed. "I love you, you know that. I really fucking love you." Ian's voice was heavy with  
emotion, his pupils blown with passion as he climbed onto Mickey's lap and kissed him more  
allowing their cocks to brush against each other and find some friction.

Mickey felt the dizziness of intoxication. Ian's vehemence was overwhelming. He was  
everywhere--hands not missing an inch of his skin, tongue searching every crevice of his mouth,  
words getting Mickey more wasted.

Ian pushed him back gently so his head was resting on a pillow and then proceeded to lick and nip  
down his muscular chest to the supple skin around his belly button, then spending a bit more time  
on his cock, before squeezing his ass and spreading him open so he could lick wetly around  
Mickey's tight puckered hole.

Mickey pulled up to his elbows so he could see that beautiful creature, eyes closed peacefully,  
cheeks hallowed out as he licked into Mickey, loosening him bit by bit. Mickey dropped his head  
back onto the pillow, neck craning up at the ceiling with a groan as Ian's tongue breached him  
deeper. He twisted to reach for the lube in his bedside table earning a moan of disapproval from  
the redhead who was shut out by the movement. "You taste so good," Ian groaned before diving  
his face back between Mickey's legs.

"Almost ready," Mickey's breath was choppy. "Just.. please."

Ian didn't stop his licking and sucking, but reached blindly for the lube that that Mickey had tossed  
down to him. He covered his fingers carelessly getting a good amount on the sheets. He pushed  
two digits into Mickey, relishing in the sound of the guttural groan that came from deep within  
Mickey's chest. He continued to scissor Mickey open as he licked and sucked at his balls. When  
Mickey's legs began to shake erratically Ian pushed in one more finger to check for readiness.  
Mickey breathed "yes" and "go" his voice hardly audible, tucked deep under his moans.

Ian got onto his knees, his face flushed, redder around the mouth, and lined his cock up with  
Mickey. He looked at the wrecked man under him practically vibrating with want. Mickey hadn't  
tossed him a condom so Ian sought confirmation by lifting an eyebrow. Mickey nodded and Ian  
wasted no time pushing into him fully.

They both groaned, probably too loudly, when Ian was fully seated, filling Mickey up completely,  
plunged to the hilt. Ian felt Mickey's body shiver around him.

"Shhh," Ian soothed, laying flank against Mickey, kissing and sucking at his shoulder as he slowly  
rolled his hips into him. The room was almost silent now, save the soft grunts and moans they  
were releasing into each other's skin.

Ian peeled his lips off of Mickey's shoulder so he could look into those deep blue eyes. They were  
hooded and blown, looking at Ian with such lust and admiration that the redhead knew he would  
cum if he didn't look away.

He rested his forehead against Mickey's as he pushed in deeper, giving pointed pulses to his  
prostate. He snaked his hands up around the back of Mickey's neck holding the cradle of his head  
as he nuzzled his nose up to rub at Mickey's, "I love you" he whispered knowing that he never  
planned to stop telling Mickey how he felt. He connected their lips once again as Mickey gasped  
into his mouth at his latest plunge. He nipped at Mickey's bottom lip pulling it out a little so that he  
could slip his tongue deep into his mouth.

"I'm close," Mickey mumbled around Ian's tongue. They were holding each other for dear life, so  
tight that Ian's stomach rubbing against Mickey's cock was all the friction he needed.

"Cum for me, just for me" Ian practically begged as he moved his lips down to kiss the juncture  
between Mickey's jaw and neck. He thrust his cock in hard, jabbing at Mickey's prostate until the  
brunet was shaking and strung out beneath him. Mickey let out a sputtering moan as the heat of  
his release poured from him onto Ian's stomach, binding them together, just as Ian came deep in  
Mickey, warming him, claiming him

The air was alive with fire around them as they laid holding each other, not wanting to  
disconnect...So they didn't.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Stay

Ian hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep when he felt the stir of his body awakening. He  
opened his eyes and let them adjust to the sunlight streaming past the sloppily draped makeshift  
curtains. He took in his surroundings, surveying the familiar old haunt, only to realize not much  
was different. The only thing that changed was the man whose limbs were tangled up with his  
own, form twisted to mold against Ian's body.

He looked down at Mickey's face which was resting in the nook of his arm, peaceful, satisfied,  
vulnerable and wondered if he had always been this beautiful. He stared, enthralled by every  
detail; the soft lines of his jaw, full lips, smooth porcelain skin that contrasted so starkly with his  
mess of dark hair, those perfectly expressive eyebrows now settled low to his eyelids in  
contentment.

Maybe he was still sleeping? The heat of Mickey's body, the taste of his skin, did he dream it?  
Was he going to wake up in Theo's house, lonely though not alone, tempted to numb it all away,  
wrapped in cashmere sweaters, and showered with expensive gifts, kept but broken... was that still  
his reality? He felt panic grip his throat, squeezing tight, relentlessly rising, making its way into his  
head, leaking its poison. Was he manic? Had he lost weeks, months?

He drew his hand, shaky and tentative towards Mickey's face. He lightly traced the bottom of his  
pink pout with his finger, sighing with relief at the push and give of human skin. Mickey wiggled  
his lips slightly under the touch, but Ian kept drawing along the outline of his lips. He smiled as he  
outlined the small smirk that was pulling up on the corner of Mickey's mouth.

"What're you doing?" He muttered sleepily, eyes still closed finger nails tickling at Ian's hip  
mindlessly.

"Needed to see if you were really here," Ian said softly, "You're really here."

"You're really weird," Mickey informed him pulling one of his blue eyes open to look at Ian.

"But you love me?" Ian asked trying to draw those three words out of those real, living lips.

"Mmmhmm," Mickey hummed.

Ian tried not to worry, but he couldn't help himself. Mickey wasn't his. Would he ever be again? It  
wasn't the first time they'd been together without the strings of commitment. Mickey still had a  
boyfriend, a hot boyfriend, that he seemed to enjoy kissing in front of Ian.

Ian tried to shake the sadness away, wanting to focus on the sweetness of the present, not worry  
about what would come in the future. Would these stolen moments be all he would get from  
Mickey? He knew it wouldn't be enough, but he'd never turn him away; never again. He'd have to  
settle for bits and bobs of Mickey for as long as he was willing to give them to Ian. He wanted  
everything, all of him, forever. How was he going to cope with sharing him? Thinking of another  
man's hands on him, mouth kissing him, dick inside of him made Ian feel physically ill. The sick  
taste of bile permeated his mouth. He swallowed several times and willed it away.  
He wanted to claim him. If last night was about making love, this morning was going to be about  
fucking Mickey so good that it would be impossible for him to cum for anyone else. He  
remembered the ramming he gave Mickey before that shitshow of a wedding, and started to feel  
blood travel down to his cock, hardening it immediately. He'd never heard Mickey scream or beg  
to be taken like he did before that day and had yet to hear it since.

"Iaaaan," Mickey sang with a sexy little grin as Ian rubbed his hard dick against Mickey's. His  
eyes that had closed again, were now open and alight with desire.

Ian reached around to press his finger against Mickey's sticky, worked hole. He was still pretty  
loose but Ian drew his fingers back to his mouth, wetting them with as much spit as the dryness of  
the morning would allow. He spread Mickey's cheeks open a little and pushed two fingers in to  
twirl and scissor.

Mickey released a pleased groan and pressed his lips against Ian's chest to lick, nibble and suck a  
mark onto his firm peck, "feels good," he said as Ian fingered him slowly.

"Know I fucking love making you feel good, right Mick?" Ian rasped, unraveling at the sensations  
of Mickey's mouth on him and the his muscles clenching around his fingers.

"Mmmm" Mickey confirmed continuing to work on marking up Ian's alabaster skin, "always."

"Hands and knees," Ian ordered almost breathless now, "gonna show you that I own that ass."

Mickey moved into position quickly, looking over his shoulder as Ian pushed into him. He  
dropped his head down between his shoulders as Ian started setting a savage pace. "Fuuuck,"  
Mickey sputtered breath punched out with every brutal thrust.

"You like that, Mick?" Ian practically growled digging his fingers hard into Mickey's hips and  
angling up so he was banging against Mickey's prostate. If Mickey's broken gasps and moans  
were any indication, he liked it a lot. "C'mon, fuck, tell me how you like it."

"Love it when you.." He began, trying to get the words out amongst his groans, voice  
reverberating from from the pounding, "fucking destroy me."

"Yeah?" Ian asked his hips spurred to move quicker and more relentlessly at the statement.

Mickey let out a wail of pleasure, "shit you take my cock so fucking good, baby"

"Give it to me so good," Mickey mewed letting out a yelp as Ian rammed against his prostate  
again.

"Can you take more?" Ian questioned breathlessly, drawing a nod from Mickey. The redhead  
wrapped one arm around Mickey's waist and the other around the front of his shoulders, pulling  
him up so he was sitting in his lap.

Mickey was alternating between whines and long low moans at the new angle. He reached one  
hand around to grab Ian's ass and used the other to stroke his own hard, leaking cock. Ian sucked  
and bit at the nape of Mickey's neck, devouring him completely.

"Can he fuck you like this?" He growled into Mickey's skin.

"No, no.." Mickey cried out, rocked by the merciless pace, "nobody can," he was interrupted by a  
particularly deep trust which sent him quaking back down to the bed. Ian laid flat on top of him,  
pulling Mickey's face to the side so he could smash his mouth into Mickey's, "fuck me like you  
do." He finished into Ian's mouth, pushing back against him hard.

"My fucking needy bottom," Ian breathed into Mickey's mouth pulling him up by his hips.

Mickey tried to push up but his arms were shaking too much to hold his weight. Ian held the  
smaller man's hips up as his heaving chest laid flank with the bed. "Gonna make you cum, now.  
Just for me, only for me." He let one of his hands fall from Mickey's hips to stroke his cock at the  
in tandom with his thrusts.

"Only for you," Mickey moaned, grabbing onto the comforter desperately as Ian brought him over  
the edge. He was gasping and wailing at the intensity of his orgasm causing Ian to fucking lose it.

"Fuck," Ian cried his movements now frenzied and erratic as he emptied deep into Mickey, "only  
me." He panted dropping his weight heavy on Mickey's body, spent.

*

"Got a lunch at work today," Mickey informed Ian as they got dressed after their shower, "so I  
gotta go do that."

Ian nodded and asked nervously "So, when can I see you again?" He was worried it would be a  
while. What if Mickey regretted it already? Felt shitty for cheating?

"Um," Mickey gave him a strange look as he towel dried his hair, "tonight?"

"Yeah?" Ian immediately smiled, eyes perked up at the offer. "I gotta work, but can I come by  
after?"

"Yeah, ok. Maybe I'll swing by. Make sure you get home safe and shit," Mickey said with a  
smirk. "Sound good?"

Ian nodded excitedly like a fucking puppy, "Yeah, yeah, that sounds really good."

Mickey grinned, "You're a fucking doofus." He opened the door and made his way to the kitchen  
with Ian following closely behind.

"Whatever," Ian laughed spanking his ass playfully.

"Shit," Mickey muttered when he caught sight of Selena and Iggy staring at them slack jawed  
from the kitchen table. Fuck, had they been loud? They were probably really fucking loud.

Mickey didn't consider his roommates while Ian was plowing his ass. Fuck.

"Somebody was fucking murdering a cat this morning," Iggy snapped giving Ian a dirty look,  
"woke us up."

"Fuck," Mickey sighed, "Sorry, that was Ian. He's a loud motherfucker."

"Mmmhmmm," Ian hummed sarcastically.

"Thought your boyfriend was railing you in there," Iggy snipped, obviously not happy to see  
Mickey's bed-mate.

"He was," Mickey confirmed taking a bite of an apple and tossing one to Ian who was too  
shocked by Mickey's statement to catch it. It rolled across the floor and he dumbly chased after it.

"Jake's here?" Selena asked eyes wide. "Were you like, having a threesome?"

Mickey raised his eyebrows and shook his head like she was a real fucking idiot, "Uh, no." He  
paused realizing nobody in the room knew the status of his relationship with Jake, "We broke up"

"You did?" Ian asked the most surprised of all.

"The fuck, Ian?" Mickey scoffed. "You thought I was cheating on the guy. I ain't a fucking  
cheater." Ian just stared at him, astonished.

"You gotta really explain what it's like to not be a cheater to Ian, Mick. Bitch can't comprehend  
faithfulness," Iggy snarked.

"Fuck off," Mickey retorted flicking his finger up at Iggy. Ian was too shocked to respond to Iggy,

"Let's go, man. I gotta get to work," he said nudging Ian towards the door. They walked  
wordlessly to the El, Ian just giving Mickey stupid, lovesick smiles and Mickey smiling back, eyes  
narrowed a bit, silently trying to figure out why the fuck Ian was acting like such a weirdo. "I'm  
going North," he said kissing Ian's lips chastely as his train arrived, "I'll see you later, ok?"

Ian nodded, pulling Mickey back to plant another kiss on his lips, "Tonight," he confirmed his  
fucking eyes still wild and moony.

Mickey gave him a slight wave and shook his head in amusement as he jumped on the train.

Chapter Thirty: You and I

"Can never get this fucking glitter off of me," Mickey groaned picking at the stray flecks of  
iridescence hiding on his skin only to be seen when the dim amber glow from the street light  
outside his bedroom window hit him just right.

"Looks good on you," Ian said sleepily knocking Mickey's hand away so he could wrap his arm  
around his waist comfortably. "Pretty."

"Fuck off, Gallagher, I'm not even kidding. Shit pisses me off." Mickey groused adjusting his  
position to allow Ian to rest his head in the divet between Mickey's collar bone and pec.

"Shouldn't jump on me before I can get a shower then," Ian stated plainly lifting his chin a little to  
ask for a kiss. Mickey obliged tilting his neck so he could plant a soft kiss on Ian's lips, no tongue,  
just full lips pressed against full lips, resting, the insides of their lips melting together just as their  
bodies were.

"You weren't complaining," Mickey reminded him after he pulled back. He tenderly pushed the  
redheads hair back, allowing his fingers to tickle and linger in Ian's tresses. "Shit doesn't come off  
in the shower anyway."

Ian closed his eyes enjoying the sensation and softness of Mickey's hands in his hair, ignoring his  
dumb complaints. "You done yet? Your hands are really relaxing me, but your mouth..."

"You gonna talk shit on my mouth after what it did for you 20 minutes ago?" Mickey challenged  
moving his hand down to grab at Ian's dick roughly.

Ian laughed and scooted away all hands and legs, trying to defend his junk. After getting a wild  
foot in his stomach and letting out an 'umph' Mickey put his hands up in surrender.

"Ok, ok come back'ere."

Ian moved back into his prior position and sighed contentedly as Mickey went back to playing  
with his hair. "Missed this so much."

"Mmmhmm," Mickey hummed in agreement, "it's nice."

"Missed you," Ian breathed, "Wasted so many years. I should've fucking been there." He shook  
his head, admonishing himself and Mickey could feel moisture leak onto his chest. "I'm sorry."

"Don't..." Mickey warned softly, "C'mon."

"Told you I'd never stop apologizing," Ian reminded him with a sniff. "I love you."

"You've gone soft," Mickey teased with a click of his tongue. He wondered if he would ever get  
tired of hearing Ian apologize. Maybe one day he would, but not anytime soon. He'd feign like he  
wanted him to stop, but he didn't. He could do without the crying, however. "You gotta quit the  
fuckin' waterworks."

"It's just us," Ian pointed out, lifting his chin again. Mickey accommodated the request kissing Ian  
gently. He forgot what this was like: the freedom, the safety, the security.

It hadn't always been like this. When they had first began their relationship so many years ago,  
things had been sloppy, fast, furious; the way it was when you're rushing, running, scared.

As the years passed on, things were more comfortable, steady, honeyed. They were caring  
towards each other in public, but behind closed doors they found their haven; not because they  
were hiding, but because when they were alone together, they weren't.

They shared more than people would have understood from the outside looking in. Sure, the entire  
South Side knew they were gay, but that was because they liked dick, right? They were still  
bruisers, badasses, wild ones. Those people didn't see the depth of their relationship; the laughter  
shared over private jokes that could only exist between lovers, the softness of the tender moments  
where they held each other tightly just because they could, the nights spent crying and coping with  
Ian's diagnosis, the steadfast support system, the burning, all consuming love.

Mickey kissed the top of Ian's head, ruffling his hair in the process, "It's just us," he agreed  
gratified, sheltered in his haven. He looked at Ian's eyelids heavy with sleep and kissed each one  
gently before giving in himself, shutting his eyes and drifting off to sleep.


End file.
